


Sugar Is Sweet

by Russ (Quasar)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Crossovers: oww, Drama, First Times, M/M, Multiple Partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:24:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 53,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quasar/pseuds/Russ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the middle of a perplexing case, Jim encounters his double -- and learns some things about himself and Blair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar Is Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> I fooled with the timeline a bit to make the two shows occur at the same time. This story occurs a few weeks after "South Seas Connection" from OWW and "Love Kills" from TS.

## Sugar Is Sweet

by Russet McMillan

Author's webpage: <http://users.apo.nmsu.edu/~mcmillan/stories.html>

* * *

Dedication: This story is for Merry, who wrote lots of letters to try to get the point through UPN's thick collective skull. Many, many thanks to Paulette for eagle-eyed, inspiring, and timely beta-reading. I also want to thank Maeg and Laura, for their technical advice. If any of their excellent suggestions failed to stick, it was because I was too stubborn to listen. And kudos to Margie, who connected me with my technical advisers -- the researcher list rocks! 

Notes: I have moved the time frame of One West Waikiki up a little bit so that its last episode, "South Seas Connection," occurs shortly after the episode "Remembrance" from The Sentinel. This story begins a few weeks after "Love Kills". 

**SUGAR IS SWEET**

Blair Sandburg leaned over the railing above the paddock, watching the people and horses mill around below. Being an anthropologist, he decided what horse to bet on based not on the appearance of the animals, but on the behavior of the people -- especially the trainers and jockeys, who really knew what was going on. No bookie's promise of a `sure thing' could beat the knowledge these experts had about which horse was off its feed, which one liked the current track conditions, or which had pulled a tendon in training. Blair's entire much-vaunted foolproof betting system was based on his knowledge of human body language. 

Number Seven, in the red and purple silks, looked especially confident today. The relaxed assurance of the trainer and jockey were borne out by the close looks everyone else kept giving them. Yes, this one would be the winner, barring unforeseen circumstances. Having made his choice without prejudice, Blair unfolded his betting form. Unfortunately, it seemed everyone else knew who would be winning this race, for Number Seven, Doppelganger, was the favorite at odds of 3:2. Not even worth putting money on, by Blair's standards. He sighed and moved back a little so someone else could crowd up to the fence. When this field left the post, he would begin watching the entrants of the next race. With fewer people around, they would relax their careful facades and be even easier to read. 

Glancing around the grandstand, Blair caught sight of a familiar figure and frowned. What was Jim doing here? He had shown no interest in horse racing earlier when their work had brought them to the track, even though their friends were sponsoring a horse. That meant he had to be here because of something or someone else -- namely, Blair. 

The graduate student grimaced. "Okay Jim, I see you," he murmured under his breath. "You can stop hiding behind that pillar." He knew his friend would have no trouble catching his words, for Jim's hearing -- like his other four senses -- was extremely acute. 

Jim didn't move, just remained lounging against the pillar sucking on a stick of red licorice and watching the horses move about below. 

"Look, Jim, if you're still mad at me because of this morning --" Blair broke off for a moment to smile innocently at a passing woman who had given him a strange look. "-- I'm sorry. You're right, I should clean up the bathroom more when I'm done, and I'll try to do better. But you have to realize, with your senses you can see and smell things that just aren't there for me. We're never going to have the same definition of `clean', man, that's just the way it is." 

Jim continued to ignore his partner. Now he was studying a betting form as if genuinely interested in the contents. 

"Fine," Blair grunted. "Be that way. Who the hell are you following anyway, if it isn't me? I thought you didn't have any new cases." 

Jim turned and sauntered towards the betting windows, his manner so elaborately casual that Blair knew he must be stalking someone. 

The post call came for the fourth race, and the entire grandstand was bustling with last-minute bettors. Blair moved to a corner out of the way of the traffic flow, idly looking out toward the parking lot. 

He stiffened as sunlight glinted off something metal. Was that a gun? Groping for his glasses, he wished he had Jim's vision. Yes, there was definitely something wrong about that group of three men in the parking lot. The skinny guy was uneasy, the bigger guys threatening. The man with the gun took the nervous man by the arm and started to lead him away. 

Blair whirled and ran through the crowd, looking for his partner. "Jim. Jim!" He grabbed the detective's sleeve. 

"Huh?" Jim gave him a look of total innocence. 

"Look, I know you must be here on a case, but there's something going down out in the parking lot." 

"I don't know what you're talking about, Chief." 

"Jim, I think it's a kidnapping! There's these two guys with guns, and \--" 

Jim's mouth dropped open and the licorice fell to the ground. "Guns? Where?" 

"Out in the parking lot! Come on, we can take the short cut through the track offices." Blair knew the layout of the Lastings Park grandstand all too well after that murder investigation last year; he led Jim to a side exit, yelling "Police emergency!" at a startled security guard. 

They arrived breathless in the parking lot. Blair glanced back at the grandstand to gauge his perspective. "They were here, right here! I saw them. They grabbed this guy and they were leading him away --" 

Jim pushed him back suddenly as a dark green van came hurtling down the lane of cars, tires squealing. Blair banged his knee painfully on a parked car trying to get out of the way. 

Jim bent down for a moment to pull a gun from his ankle holster and took off running after the van. He paused twice to try to get off a shot, but parked cars and passers-by blocked his line of fire. Jim dodged between vehicles, trying to cut off the fleeing van. 

For a moment he was in front of them, but he had no time to shoot. He leaped out of the van's path and started running alongside it as it cornered, threatening to tip over. As it straightened out again and began to accelerate, Jim threw himself on the back bumper, clinging to the spare tire for leverage. He held on through two more rubber- burning corners, then lost his grip and tumbled away as the van took the final curve out of the lot. 

Blair ran up just as Jim climbed to his feet again. "You okay?" 

Jim nodded, bending over with hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. 

"Jim, you sure you're okay?" Blair demanded again, concerned at his partner's panting. 

"Fine, Chief," gasped the detective. "Just tell me one thing." 

"What?" 

"Well, two things. Who the hell are you, and why do you keep calling me `Jim'?" 

  * * * 



Detective Jim Ellison walked into the Major Crime bullpen with a light heart. He was at work on a Saturday, but he had only one report to print out, sign, and turn in, and his time was his own until Monday -- that was a long weekend, for a detective. Not even Sandburg was here to complicate things for him today. 

"Hey, Jim," called Brown from his desk. "If you're looking for your partner, he's down the hall." 

Jim froze, his coat half off. "I thought he wasn't coming in at all today. He said he had a lot of stuff to do at the university." 

Brown exchanged amused glances with his partner, Rafe. "Well, I don't know about the _university_ , but right now he's here making a statement." 

Jim rubbed at his temple. "All right, what kind of trouble did he get into now?" 

"Trouble? No trouble. Right, Rafe?" 

"He just witnessed something, I think." 

"Yeah, that's right. A kidnapping." 

"So why are the two of you grinning like idiots?" Jim demanded. 

The two partners look at each other and shook their heads. "Nuh-uh," Brown said. "You're going to have to find this one out for yourself, Jim." 

"Fine. Where did you say he was?" 

"Interrogation room three, I think." 

Jim shrugged the coat back onto his shoulders and headed for the door. Halfway there he was stopped by a petite blonde whirlwind. 

"Mack!" the woman exclaimed. "What are you doing in Cascade?" 

"Uhh . . ." Jim looked behind him to see if she could be addressing anyone else. 

"You weren't following me, were you? Look, I got called out of my conference to come down here and identify you. What did you do, lose your identification or something? And why did the police pick you up anyway? You know you're not well yet, you shouldn't be running  
around getting into trouble --" 

"Wait, wait, hang on a minute," Jim held up his hands to interrupt the tirade. "Let me see if I have this straight. You came here to make a positive identification of someone?" 

"That's right. You know, Mack, I really don't appreciate being dragged out of the middle of a lecture --" 

"And you have positively identified me as this someone?" Jim cut her off again. 

She shut up and stared at him suspiciously. "Mack, are you feeling all right? You look really pale." She reached up to lay a hand on Jim's forehead, and he ducked away. 

A tall figure loomed at Jim's shoulder. "Dr. Holliday? I'm Captain Simon Banks -- I asked you to come down here." 

"Do you have an infirmary here, Captain? Because I think this man is seriously ill." 

Simon gave Jim an assessing glance. "He looks fine to me." 

"He's disoriented and confused --" 

"*I'm* confused?" Jim sputtered. "She's the one who needs glasses!" 

Simon turned around and glared at the two detectives watching the scene from their desks. "I don't suppose it occurred to either of you to straighten out this mess?" 

"No way, Cap," Rafe said cheerfully. 

"We're having too much fun," Brown explained. 

Simon sighed. "Dr. Holliday. If the two of you will come with me, all will be made clear." 

"What's going on, Simon?" Jim demanded as they left the bullpen. "Brown said Sandburg was involved in a kidnapping or something?" 

"He was a witness. He's making his statement now, along with . . . another witness." 

The blonde doctor was staring at Jim in bewilderment. He spared her a brief smile. "But Blair's all right, isn't he?" 

"He's fine, Jim. Tone down the big brother thing for a minute, will you?" Simon passed the first two interrogation rooms and headed for the third. 

Just as they arrived, the door opened and Jim's partner appeared. "Jim!" Blair was alight with excitement. "The most incredible thing happened \-- you won't believe it!" 

"You witnessed a kidnapping, I heard," Jim put in, checking his partner over quickly for injuries. 

"Yeah, I saw it going down, so I ran and got this guy, who for _some_ reason I thought would be a help, and --" 

Jim froze as another man came up behind Sandburg, and he found himself staring at his mirror image. The stranger was taken aback for a moment, then grinned knowingly at Sandburg. 

"Mack?" said the blonde in a small voice. 

"Hi Holli," said the newcomer. "Now you see why they wanted you to come confirm my identity." 

Jim turned to Simon. "This is what all that confusion was about?" 

"That's right, Jim. Meet Lieutenant Mack Wolfe from the Honolulu PD and Dr. Dawn Holliday from the Honolulu ME's office. Lieutenant, this is Detective Jim Ellison. Dr. Holliday, can you confirm that this _is_ Lt. Wolfe?" 

"Ah . . . yes," the woman concluded slowly. "Now that I see them together, I can tell the difference. But it certainly is, umm --" 

"A striking resemblance," Jim's lookalike put in, still grinning. 

"What's Honolulu PD doing investigating a kidnapping in Cascade?" Jim demanded. 

Wolfe held up his hands. "Hey, I'm on vacation. I was just having a little innocent fun until this guy --" He jerked a thumb at Blair. "-- grabbed me and apparently assumed I was a cop." 

Blair bounced on his heels, beaming. "Isn't it amazing, Jim?" 

"You left Hawaii for a vacation in *Cascade?*" Jim pressed. 

"Well, no, actually I was checking up on some stuff --" Wolfe began. 

"Checking up on me, you mean," said the doctor angrily. "What is it this time, Mack? You think one of my fellow pathologists is actually a serial murderer? Or did you just make up some flimsy excuse to follow me?" 

Wolfe spread his hands in appeal. "Doc, Doc, I swear I wasn't following you. It was just a coincidence! I heard you were coming to this conference, and I had some time off, and I just happened to remember something I saw in some of my mom's papers, and --" 

"And you followed me." 

"Oh, come on! I've been in town for three days. If I were following you, wouldn't you have noticed before now? Hmm?" 

The doctor crossed her arms under shapely breasts and glared at Jim's counterpart. 

"Could we get back to business for a minute?" Simon asked. "I take it you two have finished making your statements -- anything particularly helpful you can tell me?" 

"I got the license number of the van that went screaming out of the parking lot," Wolfe said. "Your guys are tracking it down now. But we don't even know if that van was carrying the guys Blair saw. And if it was, it'll probably turn up stolen." 

Simon's eyes narrowed. "You let us worry about that, Lieutenant. After all, it is your vacation." 

Wolfe backed down at once with an easy smile. "You got it. The case is all yours. And _I_ should be out enjoying myself. Holli, you heading back to the hotel? We could share a cab." 

"You're staying at the same hotel?" she demanded. 

Wolfe grinned. "The Ambassador, yeah. It's in a central location." 

"I think it's time we had a little talk, Mack. You're supposed to be _resting_. That toxin is still in your system . . ." 

Wolfe steered the doctor into the elevator as she continued scolding him. Jim watched them go with hooded eyes. "Where did you meet him, Chief?" he asked in a low voice. 

"At Lastings Park. It's so incredible, Jim! He is just like you. He even calls me `Chief!' Man, I have _got_ to find out if he has Sentinel abilities. I mean, if you have so many genetic similarities already \--" 

Jim looked away. "That's great, Chie -- partner. Did it ever occur to you I might not appreciate being duplicated?" He stalked off down the hallway. 

Blair exchanged a brief worried look with Simon before hurrying after his partner. 

  * * * 



"I can't believe you followed me here!" Holli said for the fifth time as they got out of the cab. Though she had been a little inhibited by the presence of the driver, she was free now to work up to a towering fury. 

Mack trailed behind her up the front steps of the Ambassador hotel. "Look, Doc, I told you, this trip had nothing to do with you." 

She turned and crossed her arms. "Oh? You mean you weren't trying to keep me out of trouble again? You weren't getting all worried and protective about me _without_ telling me why, like you've done a dozen times in the past?" 

"Hey! Who's the last one that did the following, huh? I don't remember telling you to come to Auckland after me." 

"Dammit, Mack, I'd just found out you were dying! If you have a reason that important, you'd better tell me now." 

"No, I don't have a reason, because --" 

"Just as I thought!" 

"Because I *wasn't* following you! C'mon, Doc, we're blocking the door here. Why don't we take this somewhere else?" 

Holli threw up her hands and pushed through the revolving doors into the hotel lobby. 

Mack followed her to the bank of elevators. "Okay, I admit, me being here _does_ have something to do with you." 

"Ah ha!" 

"But it's totally innocent! Look, when I heard you were coming to Cascade, it just reminded me of something I'd been meaning to do for a while. Now that I've got some leave it seemed like a good idea. Okay?" 

"And what would that be, Lieutenant?" 

People getting off the elevator gave the arguing couple some odd looks. Mack herded Holli inside and smiled at the elevator's other occupants before pushing the button for the sixteenth floor. 

"I'm on nineteen," Holli said. "So? I'm waiting to hear your reason. Just what were you planning to do in Cascade?" 

Mack grimaced and jerked his head at the strangers listening to them. Holli sighed and stared at the numbers clicking upward. When their last fellow passenger got off on the eighth floor, she turned to Mack expectantly. 

"All right, Doc. It's a simple thing, really -- at least I thought so until I met Ellison today . . ." 

Holli shifted impatiently. 

"Anyway, I've never told you about my parents, have I?" 

Growing interested, she shook her head. 

"Well, my dad was a great guy. A really good father, and lots of fun. But I always knew he wasn't really my father, you get me? Mom never kept that a secret or anything, but she wouldn't tell me who my real father was. It used to frustrate the hell out of me when I was a kid. Not that I was missing anything growing up with the parents I had, but I always wanted to know, right?" 

They reached the sixteenth floor. Mack held the doors open with a questioning look at Holli. She glanced briefly at the illuminated 19, then followed him off the elevator. 

"So anyway, my mother died about a year and a half ago -- just before you came to Hawaii." 

"I'm sorry," said Holli, more subdued now that Mack was giving her some real information. 

"It's okay, we knew it was coming. Dad's been gone for years. So I got all Mom's papers and stuff. I've been kinda going through them -- you know, whenever I had the time." Mack pulled a key card from his hip pocket and opened the door of 1614, bowing Holli in front of him. 

She entered the room abstractedly. "So you found something about your real father?" 

"Maybe. I'm not sure. At least, I wasn't when I came here. What I found were some unexplained payments into Mom and Dad's joint account back when I was a kid -- every couple of years, just when the family finances were in real trouble, a check would come and bail us out. Of course, I didn't know any of that at the time." 

"So where was the money from?" Holli settled in one of the chairs by the window. 

Mack paced up and down between the beds. "Well, that turned out kinda tough to track down. Most of the checks came from different legal firms, and they were very reluctant to tell me anything about who gave _them_ the money. And it wasn't like I could get a warrant or anything. But the last payment, when I was sixteen -- right after my Dad died -- that one came from a bank here in Cascade. So I came out here, and yesterday I visited the bank to find out whose account the money was from." 

"And?" 

"It's a guy named Ellison. William Ellison." 

"Oh." Holli frowned. "Oh! So you think --" 

"Yeah. Kind of a smoking gun, wouldn't you say?" 

"It would explain the resemblance," she conceded. 

"Right. But now -- I don't know, Doc. I never thought about involving anyone else in this. It got a _lot_ more complicated once I bumped into our friend Detective Ellison." 

"But there's no reason he needs to know anything about it, is there? I mean, if his father is . . ." 

"Is my father . . ." 

"You could be digging up some pretty ugly skeletons." 

Mack sighed. "I know that, Doc. But now that I'm here, I can't just let it drop, can I? I'll just try to stay away from Ellison -- Jim Ellison, that is." 

Holli shook her head uncertainly. "I don't know. You're a witness in a kidnapping case. It could get a little hard trying to avoid the investigating officer." 

Mack flopped back on the bed with a groan. " _That_ is what I'm afraid of." 

  * * * 



"So where we going, Jim?" Blair asked after tamely following his partner for half an hour. He had watched Jim make phone calls, study forms, and call up computer data without saying a word. At one point Jim had called him over curtly to study a group photo on a web page, asking if any of the people there were the ones he had seen in the parking lot, but Blair couldn't be sure of the identifications. Now they were in the truck leaving tire rubber on the garage floor, and it would be nice to know what was happening. 

"To check out that green van. It's registered as a company vehicle for Puget Chemicals." 

Blair breathed a sigh of relief at Jim's calm tone of voice. "Okay. Hey, wait a second! Puget -- weren't they on CNN a couple weeks ago?" "I wouldn't know, Chief. It sounded like a pretty small company. You saw the employees on their web page -- everybody fit into one photo." 

"I'm sure I've heard of them, though. Yeah, they came up with that new artificial sweetener. It's just about to be approved by the FDA. Supposed to taste exactly like sugar, but zero calories." 

"Like we need more of those." 

"No, seriously, man, even normal guys like me can taste the difference between saccharin or aspartame and sugar." 

"I can _smell_ the difference," Jim growled. 

"Right. But this stuff is supposed to be an exact match, taste-wise. I'd love to see what you think of it." 

"I'm happy with my weight as it is now, Chief." 

"Yeah, but what about your cholesterol level? I'd hate to see the inside of your arteries, man. Too bad they couldn't come up with artificial fat and grease and salt." 

Jim groaned. "Give me a break, Jenny Craig. This new plastic food trend is even worse than that whole-grain vegetarian stuff you're always pushing. I like food that comes from animals and plants, not out of a vat." 

Blair grinned. "Wave of the future, man." 

"Ugh, I hope not!" 

Blair had been right when he recognized the company name; when they entered the front office in the building next to the plant, there were signs everywhere advertising the new sweetener. Jim didn't waste time looking around, but forged straight to the receptionist's desk and flashed his badge. "Detective Ellison, Cascade P.D. I need to speak to whoever is in charge of your vehicle fleet." 

Her jaw dropped. "Uh, we don't have -- that is, there isn't anyone. We only have five vehicles owned by the company. There's our chief mechanical engineer, but he's out of town today." 

"Fine, then how about letting me talk to Quentin Shoemacher?" 

"He's the president!" she said, aghast. 

Jim smiled. "I know." 

"Well, I'll see if he's busy," she said doubtfully, punching buttons on her phone. 

Jim cocked his head, listening to something. "If he is, tell him I need to see him anyway. Come on, Chief." He by-passed the woman's desk and headed for a paneled door at the far end of the lobby. 

"Wait! You can't go in there!" 

Jim pushed the door open. 

It was a modest office for the CEO of an up-and-coming company. More advertising posters lined the walls, along with mobiles hanging from the ceiling representing various complicated molecules. On the far side of a large, cluttered desk a bespectacled man with thinning sandy hair was snarling into a phone. 

"No! Tell them I'm not interested. We'll pay off everything as soon as we get our approval, so they can just take their merger and --" He broke off as Jim and Blair entered the room. "Just deal with it, Harry \-- I have to go, someone's here." He slammed the phone down and glared at the two intruders. "What do you want?" 

Out came the badge again. "I'm Detective Ellison. We're here about--" 

"Oh, did you find it already? That was quick." Shoemacher removed his glasses and started polishing them. 

"I beg your pardon?" Jim was stiffly polite. 

"I only called the police half an hour ago. You mean you've already found our van?" 

"Would that be a green Chevy van, license number, ah --" Jim started to pull a paper from his pocket. 

"I don't know the license, but yes, that's the one I mean. It's our all-purpose vehicle. It disappeared from the lot last night." 

"I see. And you didn't report it sooner because . . . ?" 

"Oh, everybody assumed someone else had it and had forgotten to sign it out. Then my chief engineer realized the keys were still hanging on the hook." 

"I thought your chief engineer was out of town?" 

Shoemacher's eyes flickered. "Ah, yes. I meant the machinist who's _acting_ as chief until Roy gets back." 

Jim nodded expressionlessly. "Well, Mr. Shoemacher, we haven't actually found the van. But it was seen this afternoon." 

"Where?" 

"At Lastings Park. It was used in the commission of a crime." 

"Crime, what sort of crime?" 

"A kidnapping." 

"My God! I had no idea!" 

"Hmm. Mr. Shoemacher, do you know anyone fitting these descriptions?" Jim handed over a slip of paper detailing what little Blair had seen of the three men in the track parking lot. 

Shoemacher frowned over them. "Well, they're very general descriptions. I suppose I could name a dozen people that fit one or another of them." 

"Do any of those people work for you?" 

Shoemacher lowered the paper. "What are you suggesting, Detective?" 

"Did you say the keys to the van were hanging in a public area?" 

"Well, yes -- but they're still there. Whoever stole the van must have hot-wired it, or something." 

"Do you have spare keys?" 

"I suppose . . ." 

"Who would know?" 

"Jane, out front. She takes care of all the keys." 

"Thank you, Mr. Shoemacher. Is it all right if we have a look around your plant?" 

"Speak to Jane. She can arrange a tour for you. I hope you find the van soon." 

Jim raised an eyebrow. "And the man who was kidnapped." 

"Oh, of course! Yes." 

Jane, when asked about the keys, was happy to disoblige. "Sorry, the ones hanging in the shop _are_ the spares. The main set got lost last week and we haven't gotten new copies yet." 

"Where were the keys lost?" 

"I don't know. You'd have to ask our chief mechanical engineer, but he's --" 

"Out of town, I know." Jim looked around impatiently. "I understand we can get a tour of the plant?" 

The tour, conducted by Jane herself, was as boring as she could make it. Blair tagged along silently, noting the way she violated every rule of good teaching. She skimped on her description of their newest product, probably because it was national news and therefore potentially interesting. Jim didn't seem to care, being busy studying the facilities and people, but Blair was frustrated. There were posters along the route describing in a general way how the stuff was made, but they were hustled along too quickly to read them. 

"Excuse me, um, miss -- could you tell us more about that new sweetener, Sucraslim?" 

She simpered. "I'm afraid not. You see, until we have our FDA approval, we have to be careful about the possibility of industrial espionage." 

Jim frowned. "I thought you already had a patent on it?" 

"Oh, yes, well, we do. But, um, there's always the black market, you know?" 

"All's I'm really interested in is getting a sample," Blair explained. "Is that possible?" 

He could see her trying to formulate a reason why it wouldn't be allowed, but before she could speak Jim squinted along the corridor in front of them. "No problem, Chief. Looks like free samples are handed out at the end of the tour." 

Jane glared, but led them to the last stop in the tour obviously designed for the members of the public who would undoubtedly be flocking to visit the plant. The final display about the wonders of Sucraslim had a little box with green paper packets inside. Blair smiled sweetly and took four, tucking them into his jacket pocket before Jane could object. 

Jim retraced their path back to the truck. "What did you think, Chief?" 

"Shoemacher looked like he was lying, but you'd know that better than me. The missing engineer is probably involved somehow." 

"You think he has the van?" 

"Well, it sure as hell wasn't stolen. I mean, look at this!" Blair waved at the lot full of late-model sedans and sports cars. "You think someone's going to come all the way out here just to steal some old van that probably has at least seventy thousand miles on it?" 

A smile tugged at Jim's lips. 

"I don't think Jane was in on it, though -- she was just pissed at us." 

Jim shook his head. "Sandburg, that soft spot for the ladies is going to get you in trouble one of these days." 

"Like that's news," Blair muttered as he climbed into the truck. 

  * * * 



Jim and Blair were waiting for the attention of one of the Ambassador's desk clerks when a voice rang out behind them. "Mack!" 

They turned. 

"Oh, I'm sorry. Hello, Detective Ellison." The blonde doctor was approaching, slinging a purse over her shoulder as she walked. 

Jim smiled. "Dr. Holliday. Nice to see you again." 

"Please, call me Holli." 

Jim's brows went up. "I thought your name was Dawn." 

She winced. "I never use that." 

"It's a lovely name. It suits you," Jim said softly. 

Blair cleared his throat. "So, Doctor . . . how'd you realize it was Jim?" 

"Aside from _your_ presence?" She regarded the detective consideringly. "The clothes. Your hair's a little longer. And the tan -- I mean, Mack has more of a tan." 

"Not surprising, with the weather here in Cascade." Jim's dimples showed as he smiled. 

"And you don't walk quite the same way." 

"Yeah," Blair put in, "Mack's a lot looser, isn't he?" 

Jim glared at his partner. 

"Oh, hey, Doc!" Wolfe appeared, giving a demonstration of his loose walk. "Blair, how's it going?" He slapped Blair's shoulder and hesitated, looking at Jim. "Hi, Jim." 

"Lieutenant," Jim acknowledged coolly. 

Wolfe wilted a little. 

"Hi, Mack!" Blair said cheerfully. 

"Lieutenant, we were just looking for you, hoping you might be able to give us some more information on the van you saw or the people in it." 

Wolfe shrugged. "It was all in my statement. I don't know what else I can tell you." 

"Maybe you can," Blair said. "I was thinking --" He broke off as Jim's hand squeezed his shoulder. 

"Sandburg here is pretty good at helping recover partial memories," Jim explained. "He's, umm, helped me a few times to come up with clues I didn't remember seeing." 

Dr. Holliday frowned. "Are you some kind of psychotherapist, Mr. Sandburg?" 

"No, actually I'm an anthropologist." 

"But . . . you work with the police?" 

"I'm a police observer and a consultant to the department. I'm working with Jim because I'm doing my dissertation on the police as a closed society." 

Wolfe exchanged glances with the doctor. "Sounds interesting," he said. "Why don't you tell us about it over dinner? Holli and I were just heading out." 

*Mack!* mouthed the doctor in silent exasperation. 

"A restaurant isn't really --" Jim began. 

"Great!" Blair broke in. "What do you like? Italian? Chinese? No, you probably get lots of Chinese in Hawaii. Well, I know this great Ethiopian place. Or there's a Greek restaurant just a couple blocks away -- no need to find a cab or a parking space." 

"Sounds perfect, buddy," said Mack. "Lead the way." 

Jim ground his teeth together as they descended the front steps. He pulled his partner aside at the first opportunity. "What are you doing?" he growled. "You can't run him through relaxation exercises in the middle of a restaurant, for God's sake!" 

Blair tugged his arm free of the tight grasp. "Chill, man! I can do the memory thing anytime. Right now I'm hungry, all right? Besides . . ." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "It'll give me a chance to check him out for Sentinel abilities." 

Jim dropped the argument, mostly because he had noticed a whispered conference between the two visitors behind them. He tuned in automatically. 

"Why'd you invite them to dinner?" the doctor hissed. "I thought you were planning to avoid him!" 

"C'mon, Doc. Didn't we agree there wasn't much point in me even _trying_ to avoid him?" 

"But what if he finds out why you're here?" 

"I'm on vacation, Doc. That's all he needs to know." 

While Jim was considering what Wolfe could be hiding, they reached the restaurant. 

The dinner conversation was dominated by Blair, of course, explaining his fake thesis topic with convincing enthusiasm and plenty of hand gestures. Wolfe shared a few anecdotes about his own experience in `closed societies'; it sounded as though he had held more different jobs in his time than an actor with a speech impediment. 

At one point Wolfe broke off what he was saying and winced. 

"What is it, Mack?" Blair demanded at once. "Did you hear something?" 

Jim, who hadn't noticed anything, wondered what cue Blair had picked up on. 

"It's just the music," Wolfe explained. "It's a little off." 

Jim tuned into the ostensibly Greek muzak being piped through the little ceiling speakers. Now that it was pointed out, he could detect a slight warble; the tape deck must be old, or perhaps the tape itself was worn. They should get a CD system. 

Blair shook his head. "I never noticed. So you're a musician?" 

"I was, for a while. I traveled with a band until it broke up and stranded me in Hawaii." 

"Hey, it's not exactly a desert island," Blair observed. "Not such a bad place to get stranded." 

Wolfe grinned. "Why do you think I stayed?" 

"Some of the Polynesian cultures can be really fascinating, too. I saw these fire dancers once in Fiji --" 

Feeling it was maybe time he joined the conversation, Jim turned to the pretty doctor. "So what's this conference you're attending?" 

The doctor paused, hesitant to interrupt, but Blair just grinned. "Jim's heard about Fiji one too many times, I guess. You go ahead." 

"Oh, it's just a pathology convention. I was asked to give a talk on some of the synthetic poisons I've encountered lately in my job as medical examiner for the Hawaiian Islands." 

"Yeah, they couldn't have called a better expert," Wolfe put in. "We've had protein poisons, artificial allergens . . . I picked up an acute case of poisoning myself a couple weeks ago, but Holli saved me in time." 

She threw the lieutenant an impatient glance. "It's not like I synthesized the antidote, Mack." 

"I know -- there wasn't time, so you stole it instead. I still say you did pretty good." 

The waiter appeared and asked them if they wanted to finish up with coffee, in true Cascade tradition. While Jim and Dr. Holliday were discussing the Greek and Turkish coffees listed on the menu, Wolfe started to request an Irish Creme. 

The doctor frowned. "No alcohol, Mack. Two weeks, until your liver is recovered." 

Wolfe rolled his eyes and ordered a cappucino instead. 

"Make that decaf," Dr. Holliday said, leaning forward. "His kidneys could use a rest too." 

"Doc!" protested Wolfe. 

"You were just telling them how I saved you from the poison, Mack. This is no different." 

"Sure seems different to me," Wolfe grumbled. 

Blair ordered a mocha latte, and when it arrived he pulled a green packet from his pocket. "Okay, let's see how this stuff tastes." 

"What is it?" Wolfe demanded. 

"It's a new artificial sweetener called Sucraslim." 

"I've heard of that," Holli said. "I thought it hadn't been approved yet." 

"Any day now. This is just a sample I got from the company that makes it." Blair ripped one end of the packet, moistened a finger and dipped it in. "Hmm," he said around the fingertip, "sure tastes like sugar to me." 

"The real test is, how does it taste dissolved in a drink?" Wolfe pointed out. 

"Here, Jim, see what you think." Blair extended the open packet toward his partner. 

Jim glared, knowing that this was another of Blair's endless tests, and he couldn't back down without explaining why in front of the two strangers. He obediently took a few crystals on his finger and slipped them into his mouth. 

Blair watched eagerly. "Well?" 

"It's not sugar, Chief," said Jim. "Tastes more like . . ." His eyes widened suddenly and he grabbed at a water glass. 

"Jim? What is it? Jim!" 

Jim swirled the water in his mouth and spit it out into his half-full coffee cup. "Cyanide!" he gasped, reaching for Wolfe's water glass as well. 

Dr. Holliday snatched the packet out of Blair's hand. "It doesn't smell like almonds," she said. "Did you swallow any?" 

Jim shook his head, gulping and spitting again. 

"Doc!" Wolfe protested as she took just a crystal on the tip of her tongue. 

"I don't taste anything," she said. "It's sugary, that's all. What about you, Blair?" 

He shook his head, his gaze never leaving Jim. "I'm, uh, not sure. I might have tasted something." 

"Well, such a small amount certainly can't be harmful, even if it is laced with cyanide. Can I test this?" 

"Take it. Here's some more." Blair shoved the samples at her. "Are you sure Jim will be okay? He has a history of extreme chemical sensitivity." 

She looked with interest at the detective, who was now smacking his tongue against his palate in distaste. 

"What about it, Doc?" Wolfe asked. "You got your goody bag with you?" 

"No, it's in my room. But he couldn't possibly have had more than a milligram or two, and he spit it right out. Even if that stuff was unadulterated, it shouldn't hurt him. Are you experiencing any dizziness, headache, shortness of breath?" 

Jim shook his head. 

"No nausea?" 

"I feel all right. It's just this damn taste in my mouth." Jim looked around the table. "Give me that latte, Chief." 

Blair pushed the mug across the table so hastily it sloshed. "It doesn't have any sugar in it." 

"I don't care. In fact, the less sweet it tastes, the better." Jim gulped compulsively at the hot drink. 

Blair didn't relax until they had paid their checks and returned to the hotel, with Jim still apparently unaffected. He watched Jim intently and asked him often how he was feeling, until the Sentinel began snapping back at the questions. 

Jim was more concerned with the broader implications of what he had tasted. "So, Doctor -- um, Holli. You said you were going to test that stuff?" 

"I'd like to, if I can get someone to let me use their lab." 

"Take it to the PD lab downtown. I'll call and tell them I sent you. It could be germane to a kidnapping case we're working on." 

Wolfe looked up. "Hey, speaking of that kidnapping -- didn't you want to see if you could jog my memory or something?" 

"Uh, yeah." Jim winced, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"Headache?" said Blair at once. 

"A little. Don't worry, Chief. It was coming on before dinner. I've had a long week, that's all." 

"You're sure, man?" 

"I'm positive. Look, why don't you see what you can find out from Lt. Wolfe here. You'll probably do it better without distractions anyway." 

Blair was visibly torn between his Sentinel and the suspected pre- Sentinel. "Sure you're okay to drive, Jim? I could run you home and come back here in my car." 

"That's not necessary. Here, I'll give you cab fare to get home." Jim pulled out his wallet. 

Blair took the money reluctantly, still worried. 

Jim's expression softened. "Look," he said in an undertone, "All I need is some downtime in a dark, quiet place. Just try to keep the volume down when you get home, okay?" 

"You got it, man. I'll, uh --" Blair jerked a thumb at Wolfe. "I'll see what we can come up with." 

"Is the station on your way, Detective? I could get those tests started tonight," the doctor offered. 

"Sure. I can give you a ride," Jim agreed. 

Dr. Holliday tucked the green sample packets into her purse and smiled to indicate her readiness. Blair watched anxiously until the two had disappeared from sight. 

"Hey," said Mack, giving Blair a nudge. "I'm sure he's okay. Holli said there's no way he had enough of that stuff to affect him, and she knows what she's talking about." 

"Yeah." Blair dredged up a smile. "You're probably right. Now, uh, this will work better if we can get to a quiet place. Can we go to your room? Are you sharing with Dr. Holliday?" 

"Uh, no," Mack said, a little uneasily. 

"Okay, great. So, your room it is." 

  * * * 



Dr. Holliday made no comment when she saw Jim's truck, but her brows flew upward and she gave him a startled look. 

"Don't laugh, it's paid for," Jim said gruffly as he unlocked the passenger door. 

"Well, that's a plus," she said in an odd tone as she swung herself up into the cab. Catching Jim's curious look when he climbed in, she explained, "Car prices on the island tend to be inflated by the cost of transporting them there. Generally by the time a car is paid for, it's -- well, almost as old as this one. Repossession is actually a big industry in Hawaii." She laughed. "When I first moved to the island, I ended up holding a couple of repossessors at gunpoint  
because I thought they were car thieves." 

Jim relaxed a little. "I could have afforded a better car," he admitted, "it was just the insurance that ran me into the ground. I've, uh, totalled a few vehicles in the line of duty lately." 

She threw him a sidelong glance. "So, is there a simple reason why you have an anthropologist for a partner?" 

Jim shrugged. "I was the only one working solo when Sandburg came to the department with his request for a ride-along. I guess my captain was a little irritated at me for scaring away everyone else he teamed me with. Or maybe he was really mad at Sandburg. Anyway, the kid and I hit it off, and he's turned out to be a real asset to the department." 

"I thought he'd been with you a little longer than the usual ride- along," she commented. 

"Well, I guess it takes a while to get enough information for a PhD thesis. And like I said, he's a big help sometimes." Jim decided to change the subject. "So, Dr. Holliday --" 

"Holli." 

"You any relation?" 

"To what?" 

"The guy in Tombstone, Arizona. You know, the OK Corral?" 

"Oh! No, not as far as I know. What about you, are you a relation?" 

"To who, your handsome friend?" Jim looked at his passenger curiously as her heartbeat started to race. 

"Uh, no, I meant Harlan Ellison -- the author. Doesn't he live in this area?" 

"I wouldn't know. I don't think we're related. My line of work, I get enough horror in everyday life. I don't have to go looking for it in books." 

"I know what you mean." 

He glanced over at her. Really, the woman was far too beautiful to cut up cadavers for a living. "I guess you would." 

They arrived at the forensics lab to find Sam working late. Jim explained that Holli was a pathologist from out of town helping them with a kidnapping case, and she had some samples to analyze. 

"I'll need a mass spectrograph," Holli began, "and a full chemistry set-up. Can you show me where everything is?" 

Jim watched the two women interacting, intrigued by the contrast between them. They both had a special signature of elegance about them, but in Holli's case it was more natural, something that shone from within her. Sam's upperclass grace seemed more of an affectation, like a garment she put on. 

"So, if you're all settled in here, I'll be on my way," Jim said. 

Holli looked up. "Oh! I'm sorry, detective, I wasn't thinking about your headache. I hope I haven't held you up." 

"I'm fine." Jim smiled at her. He had completely forgotten about the headache. "Don't work too late. Sam can get you a patrol car to take you back to the hotel when you're done, okay?" 

"All right. I guess I'll see you tomorrow?" She held out a hand. 

Jim clasped her hand gently, not shaking -- just holding it. "Yeah. I'm looking forward to hearing what you think of that stuff." 

As he was leaving the building, Jim overheard a couple of uniforms speculating about the goofy smile on his face. 

  * * * 



Blair's eyes widened when he saw Mack's hotel room. Different walk, different clothes, yes -- but somehow he had expected Mack to be more like Jim. More . . . neat. Instead, there was one bed mussed and clearly slept-in some time since the maid service had been through, while the other bed sported an open suitcase and various pieces of clothing flung at odd angles. A glance into the bathroom found toothpaste and shaving equipment and cologne spread out for maximum coverage of the small counter space. 

"Have yourself a seat," Mack said amiably. He took in the direction of Blair's gaze. "Uh, sorry 'bout the mess. I don't really bother when I'm on vacation, you know?" 

"No problem, man," Blair said hurriedly. "You should see my office. You kinda have to guess where the desk is by the height of the papers on it." He gestured illustratively. 

"So what's this magic memory idea of yours? You gonna hypnotize me?" 

"Not really. You'll be doing all the work yourself. I'm just going to help you relax and focus your mind." 

"Relax, huh?" Mack waggled his eyebrows. "Should I . . . slip into something more comfortable?" 

Incredibly, Blair felt his cheeks heating. Jim teased him all the time, but somehow this felt more like flirtation. "Well, uh, you might want to take your shoes off," he said a bit hoarsely. 

Mack slipped out of his thin canvas tennis shoes, thoroughly soaked from even a brief walk in the Cascade streets. His feet were bare underneath. "So do I lie down?" 

"Yeah, lie or, or sit, that's good." 

Mack flopped back onto the bed, sprawling over the tumbled covers, and crossed his arms behind his head. "What now?" 

"Pick a comfortable position that you can hold for a few minutes. You might want your hands at your side, so you won't cut off the circulation." 

Mack dropped his hands rigidly to his sides, fidgeted a moment, then settled for crossing them over his chest. 

"Now close your eyes and breathe deeply and slowly. Each time you breathe out, feel yourself get a little bit calmer. Your heartbeat is slowing. Your muscles are relaxing." 

Mack's feet twitched, then fell to the sides, his knees bowing outward slightly. Blair now had an excellent view up the length of Mack's legs to the chino-covered bulge at his groin. 

"Good. Just let yourself relax. This is a safe place here. Relax, and think back to the parking lot at the track." Blair saw the broad chest rise and fall a little more quickly. "You're not really there, you're just watching the scene go by as if it were a video. You can slow it down if you need to concentrate on something. Okay? Picture it one event at a time. We went down the steps to the lot, and we were standing there looking around when the green van first appeared. What did you see?" 

"I heard them first," Mack said, his voice low and husky with relaxation. "Motor revving. I turned and they were heading right at us. I pushed you --" His voice was tensing up again. 

"Good, that's fine. Nothing that you remember can hurt you now. Try to stay calm and just let the images flow past. Could you see the driver of the van as it came towards you?" 

Mack squinted through closed eyelids. "No. Not really. Just the top of his head. The angle was wrong, they were too close by the time I saw them." 

"All right, let the video move forward again. We jumped out of the way of the van, it passed us, and you started chasing them." 

"I got my gun out, but I couldn't get a clear shot at the tires. I tried to get in front of them. Ran between the parked cars. I got there, but they were almost on top of me, coming too fast --" 

"Pause there. Could you see the driver this time?" 

"Yeah. Yeah, kinda. He's making a face -- I can tell he means to run me down." 

"He can't hurt you now. Just look at his face and try to memorize it. Do you have it clear in your mind?" 

"As well as I could see, which wasn't much." 

"Good. You're doing great. Now move ahead again. You got out of the van's path, but then you jumped on the back of it." 

"They slowed down for a corner, and I caught up with them. I tried holding onto the spare, but I couldn't get a good grip on it. I saw the license plate --" 

"There was a window on the back door of the van. Could you see into it?" 

"My head was down, I was trying to hold on . . ." 

"You can slow the memory down as much as you need to. Was there even a second when you saw through the window?" 

"I was turning my head, trying to get the license number -- the window was there, but I couldn't see anything. It was too fast." 

"Slow it down some more. The window flashed across your vision -- what was behind it?" 

"I saw . . . the light from the front windshield. The outline of the driver's head. Two guys in the back. One of them turned to look at me!" 

"Good. Capture his face. Memorize it." 

"He was scared." 

"Just remember everything you can." 

Mack was silent for a minute, then he shook his head. "That's it. It went by so fast, and then I fell off the back." 

"Okay, you've remembered two faces -- the driver, and one of the guys in the back. I want you to open your eyes now, but try to stay relaxed. Keep breathing, and picture those two men in your mind." Blair delved into his backpack for the color printout Jim had made from Puget Chemicals' web page. "Now look at this picture. Tell me if any of these people could have been the ones you saw." 

A slow-moving hand lifted the printout from Blair's grasp and carried it within Mack's field of vision. "The driver, I think he was this guy way on the right hand end of the group. The one in the back could have been this guy in the middle." Mack pointed the two out to Blair, who quickly circled them on the picture. 

"Good. Good. Now I want you to sit up, take a deep breath and let it out. You should feel pretty good now." It seemed strange to end a memory session without spending some time on sensory control. Blair had to keep reminding himself that he was not dealing with Jim. For one thing, Mack had responded much more easily to the meditation exercise than Jim had that first time. Or the first ten times, to be honest. 

Blair studied the group photo, comparing the people to the list of names Jim had also printed out. If Mack was right, the driver had been Roy Barrett, the mysterious chief engineer. 

Mack was sitting up now, rolling his shoulders and neck. "So does that help, buddy?" 

"Yeah, I think it does," Blair said slowly. "Look, this guy in the middle here, Felix Gearhardt -- I think he's the skinny one I saw in the lot. That would mean he was the one being kidnapped -- or at least the one they were pointing their guns at. I'm not sure about the third man, though. Coulda been this guy . . . or maybe him . . ." 

"So now you have names, what does that gives us?" 

Blair sighed. "Not that much, except that we're sure now that this case has to do with Puget Chemicals. That's the company these guys work for. The company owns the van, but like you predicted, they claimed it was stolen." 

"But now we know it wasn't." 

"Right. So we can dig for clues around Puget Chemicals, maybe find out why this was happening. But that still doesn't tell us _where_ the van is, or whether Gearhardt is still alive. There's been an APB out on the van all day, but so far, nothing. I can call the station and have them add the names and descriptions of these two guys to the APB, for all the good it will do. Otherwise, I think we're stuck until business hours tomorrow, when Jim can start making some phone calls." 

Mack rubbed his hands together. "So, you've got the evening free?" 

"Uh . . . free from police work, maybe. I'm a graduate student too, remember." 

"Oh." Mack's face fell. "You have work to do?" 

"Why, what did you have in mind?" 

"Well, you're a native, I'm a tourist, it's a Saturday night . . . I thought maybe you could show me some of the town's hot spots." 

Blair considered. He was still worried about Jim, but the Sentinel had made it clear his presence in the loft would be more of an annoyance than anything else. He was also concerned about the kidnapped man, but he couldn't do anything more tonight and, as everyone was always pointing out, he wasn't even a cop. If he spent the evening with Mack he could observe the man for enhanced senses, though he was fairly sure by now that if Mack had them, they were latent. "That sounds . . . like it could be fun. Okay, as soon as I've called the station." 

Mack gave him an endearingly goofy grin. "My friend, we are going to have _fun_ tonight! I'll freshen up while you make your call." 

After Blair had hung up the phone, he called out to the man puttering in the bathroom, "So what kind of hot spots are you looking for?" 

Mack wandered out, shirtless, running a comb over his cropped hair. "Are there any good gay dance clubs in town?" He began sorting through the shirts scattered across the second bed. 

Blair forced his mouth to close. "You want to go to a gay club?" 

"Sure." Mack looked up innocently as he pulled on a shirt with swirls of navy, royal, and powder blue that made his eyes seem incandescent in his tanned face. "They usually have the best dancing. As long as they're not hard-core S &M places or something like that." 

Blair slowly recovered his equilibrium. "Actually, you're right. The best dance club in town is mostly gay. I know just the place." 

  * * * 



Blair liked `The Side Step' better than most other gay bars in town, because it had nearly equal numbers of lesbians along with the gay men. Not that he was so crass as to go to a gay venue and scope out the women, but the mixed crowd provided a more open, cheery feel to the place. There were sometimes even a few straight couples to be seen, although they were definitely in the minority. And the place did have great music. 

Blair watched his guest closely as they stepped into the club. The flashing lights and loud music always gave Jim some trouble before he could adjust. Was Mack wincing just a little? "Does it bug you?" he bellowed over the music. 

"What?" Mack demanded, leaning closer to him. 

"The noise! Does it hurt your ears?" 

Mack shrugged. "You get used to it. You wanna get a drink?" 

"Why not get thirsty first, and then drink?" 

"A man after my own heart," Mack approved. With one hand in the small of Blair's back, he worked their way through the crowd to the dance floor. 

Mack was a fantastic dancer. Blair had never seen Jim even trying to dance, but he strongly suspected the Sentinel would be too stiff and uncomfortable to make a good show, despite his usual grace of movement. Mack, on the other hand, was both musical and uninhibited. He let his energy and good spirits pour into his moves, and his tall, tanned good looks drew eyes from across the room. Before they had been there a minute, Blair was grinning hard enough to make his face ache. 

He noticed the larger man becoming a little flushed after the second fast number, and remembered Dr. Holliday's cautions at dinner. "I think I'm thirsty now," he shouted into Mack's ear as the bass beat thumped in their chests. Mack nodded, and this time Blair took the lead, tracing a path back to the bar through the transvestites, leather boys, and everyday guys. He got two caffeine-free colas without asking, and delivered them to Mack at the table he had managed to snag. 

"Are you sure you're up to this?" Blair asked. 

Mack drained half his drink. "Why wouldn't I be?" 

"That poison thing you mentioned." 

"Oh --" Mack waved a hand contemptuously. "That's no problem. I get my heart pumping, speed up the metabolism, it just flushes the poison out faster, right?" 

"Uh-huh," Blair said skeptically. 

"I promise you, I'm not usually in this bad of a shape," Mack said, leaning closer to Blair so they didn't have to scream. 

"I can believe that," Blair said, remembering the sight he'd gotten of Mack's chest. It was very comparable to Jim's. Good genes, perhaps? 

As if reading Blair's mind, Mack asked, "So do you know anything about your friend Jim's family?" 

Blair started guiltily. "Like what?" 

"Well, I was just wondering if we could be related somehow. You know, seeing --" Mack gestured at his face. 

"I don't know. I've met his brother and father. I don't think there is anyone else, and I don't know what part of the country the family started from." 

Mack shrugged. "My mother's parents are from Tacoma. I could ask them. What's Jim's father's name?" 

"William," Blair shouted back. Mack was moving further away, and they had to pick up the volume of the conversation a little. 

Mack nodded at the information and took another swig of his drink. Blair wondered if he saw recognition flickering in the man's eyes, but he couldn't be sure. He decided to pursue his own point of interest. It seemed pretty clear by now that Mack was not a Sentinel, or if he was, his abilities were not active. Could there be a reason for that? 

"Say, do you go sailing a lot?" 

Mack raised his eyebrows. "Some. But if you're trying to think of fun things to do, I'm not too crazy about cold water like you got up here." 

"Just wondering. You ever go on any long solo trips?" 

The bigger man shrugged. "Not really. I took a catamaran across to the big island once, but it got pretty hairy with all the currents. Since then, I stick near shore where it's safe." 

Blair nodded, thinking. He had eliminated the most likely way he could think of in which Mack might have spent long periods of time alone. What else could he ask without tipping his hand? "Have you done much meditation before? You seemed to take to it pretty well." 

"Nope, never tried it. My boss used to try it and I thought it was silly. But that memory thing was a blast. Maybe I should use it for interrogating suspects, huh? Instead of yelling at them, I could play New Age music, with harps and flutes and wind chimes!" 

Blair laughed at the image. 

Despite his bout of poisoning, Mack was ready to start dancing again first. Blair waved him on and sat back to watch the man humble the other dancers. Somehow Mack paired off with a woman in a skimpy silver-studded leather outfit who was setting the dance floor on fire. They began improvising a very erotic routine, dancing inches away from each others' bodies, undulating down to the floor and back up again, hips thrusting back and forth. Other people stopped dancing just to watch the two. 

Blair saw another woman staring from the edge of the dance floor with an angry frown. He gulped down the rest of his drink and made his way to the gyrating couple. Allowing himself a light hand on Mack's shoulder, he called in the taller man's ear, "I think you're making her girlfriend jealous!" 

Mack turned toward him. "Well, can't have that, can we?" And he grabbed Blair, spun him around, and dipped him. Their mouths were inches apart. 

The next thing Blair knew, he was getting the same erotic treatment the woman had gotten, and she was off dancing with a new partner. 

"You're looking a little flushed, pal," Mack said as the song ended and a new one began. 

"I guess I'm . . . hot," Blair gasped. 

Mack grinned in appreciation. "You sure are!" 

Intoxicated with the music, the attention, and the promise in Mack's eyes, Blair gave the next few dances everything he had. He knew a few moves of his own that weren't too shabby, and he showed them off with enthusiasm. Now he was half of the couple everyone was watching. 

After a rousing rendition of "Rock 'N Roll Never Forgets" that ended with the two of them plastered up against each other, a slower tune began. Mack looked down at Blair, breathing heavily. "I think it's time to get out of here." 

"Getting tired?" Blair panted. 

"Hmm. Not _that_ tired." Mack led them back to the bar and ordered more soft drinks while they waited for a cab. 

  * * * 



Blair's conscience started kicking when they got back to Mack's hotel room. He watched quietly as Mack unlocked the door, bowed him in, then followed and closed the door behind them. The older man took Blair's shoulders gently and bent towards his lips. 

Blair placed his hands flat against Mack's chest. "Umm, maybe this isn't really such a good idea." 

Mack straightened and reached out to flick on the light above the door. "What's the matter, cold feet? Hey, this isn't your first time, is it? I mean, it's okay if it is -- I just had the impression that you already knew the ropes." 

"No, it's not my first time. I just don't think -- it isn't fair to you. I'm doing this for all the wrong reasons. You're a great guy, Mack, but --" 

"Whoa-whoa-whoa. Easy, Tiger. I'm not expecting a ring or anything, you know. Why can't we just have some fun?" 

"Yeah, but --" 

"Look, Blair, my friend. I got a pretty good idea what's going on here. I am familiar with the concept of sexual sublimation." 

Blair flushed guiltily. 

"And I gotta tell ya, buddy, you're not the only guilty party here." 

Startled, Blair looked up, studying the face that was so familiar and yet different. 

"I figure, as long as we both know the score, and we don't have any crazy expectations, nobody gets hurt. It's just a little enjoyment for both of us, right?" 

"Who --" Blair's voice cracked. "Who is it? Your doctor friend? Or do you know someone who looks just like me, back in Hawaii?" 

Mack laughed. "I've never met anyone quite like you. Yeah, it's partly Holli. She's way out of my class, but I guess I can live with that. It's also partly a friend of mine back in Honolulu." He ran a hand over his hair. "Why don't you come in, sit down, and I'll tell you about it?" 

Blair nodded. Starting to feel bold again, he sat cross-legged on the bed. Mack lounged next to him on one elbow. 

"This friend -- he's a forensics tech. Real fun guy. Me and him have been getting it together off and on for years, but we never wanted anything serious. Kinda fuck buddies, you know?" 

"Yeah, I know. I actually have a relationship sort of like that myself with a forensics tech . . . but she'd probably tear my head off if I ever called her a `fuck buddy,' even if she doesn't want to get serious." 

Mack chuckled. "That's women for ya. Anyway, my pal Kimo . . . he's in love. Says he wants to get married. And there's no way she's going to share him with me or anybody else. So all of a sudden I have to be careful how I look at him and talk to him, not touch him the wrong way \-- you know?" 

Blair nodded. "It's tougher to give up what you have than to do without something you've always wanted." He thought about Jim briefly, then pushed the image aside. "And getting dumped for a woman \-- that's gotta sting." 

"Yeah, exactly. So I'm sublimating in both directions, if you know what I mean. And I gotta say --" he lifted a hand to caress Blair's cheek "-- when you look at me like that, I got nothing against filling _your_ fantasies, either." 

Blair shivered. 

"So, we clear? Good to go?" 

"Yeah," breathed Blair hoarsely. 

"Okay. I'd like to get ready first." Mack scratched his cheek. "Peel off some of the face fuzz, you know?" 

"Actually, I could stand a shave too," Blair admitted. "Unless you like scruffy." 

Mack patted his face, a gesture Jim had used several times -- purely in friendship, of course. "You're cute, Tiger, but I hate beard burn. What do you say to a shower? I hear this place has plenty of hot water." 

"You're on!" said Blair with a grin, and they ended up racing to get into the bathroom first. 

They shaved by turns under the hot, pulsing stream. Blair was startled by the strong scent of the cream Mack favored. Jim would have hated the stuff, and Blair knew better than to buy such things himself, after a few years of sharing a bathroom with the man. That started him thinking about the possibility of sensitization in normal people who spent a lot of time with Sentinels. He was drawn from his reverie when Mack gently took the razor away and began shaving the smaller man's jaw. 

*Must be more nervous than I thought, losing focus like that,* Blair realized. He shivered as the razor began to scrape down his neck. Glancing down, he saw that Mack's penis was engorged to its full length -- he hoped that was its full length -- although still pendant. His own cock, which had been swelling and throbbing for most of the evening, lifted quickly. 

Mack smiled, tracing one foamy fingertip along the side of Blair's neck, just under his ear. No hair grew there, and it was a very erogenous spot for Blair. He gasped, watching the larger man through half-lidded eyes. 

"I love it when you look at me like that," Mack murmured. 

"Like what?" Blair breathed. 

"Like I'm the sexiest creature you've ever seen." 

"Tied for first place," Blair promised him. 

Mack turned and bent to lay the razor in the soap dish, making Blair's eyes widen and his cock throb excitedly. Gently Mack maneuvered Blair to the front of the bath, in the strongest part of the spray. Pressed up behind Blair, Mack stroked the cream from his streaming face and neck while his other hand wandered downward. He brushed at the soap running through Blair's chest hair, toyed briefly with his nipples, circled his navel once, and then took his shaft in hand. 

Blair gasped and arched backward, feeling the larger man's cock try to stand until its head was trapped between his cheeks. 

"Hmm, nice," Mack murmured, tracing delicately along his length with just the tips of three fingers. Pulling Blair's hair aside, Mack craned forward to nuzzle Blair's neck, hitting the sensitive spot unerringly. Teasing teeth pulled at Blair's earrings, and warm breath fluttered across his hearing. 

With a gentle tug from Mack's hand and a twist of the tall man's hips, Blair was turned ever so slightly to the left. At the same instant, Mack's free hand reached up and twisted the shower head. A pulsing, narrow jet of water burst out onto Blair's cock. He sobbed and felt his knees unlock. A strong arm caught him across the chest and pulled him back against hard muscles. 

Mack held the smaller man centered right in the throbbing heart of the spray while his right hand reached further down to Blair's tightening sac. With a tiny motion combining a shake and a squeeze, he stimulated Blair's balls in time to the swift beat of the water. 

Blair gasped and moaned and squirmed against the powerful arm holding him in place, then arched violently as his pleasure centered in a burst of fire. The water coming down mingled with the spurts flying out, making his orgasm seem huge and endless. 

Mack caught Blair under the armpits as he collapsed and swung him aside out of the massaging jet which had become unbearably strong to his sensitized flesh. One hand left Blair momentarily to spin the taps, then he was lifted with an arm under his knees and carried out of the shower. 

Blair found himself lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling and being tenderly patted with a huge, soft towel. "Whoa," he managed. 

"Liked that, huh?" Jim -- no, Mack -- was looking very smug. 

"Oh, man. Oh, _man_." Blair turned his head and discovered that he was on the cover of the second bed, miraculously cleared of its clutter. "My hair's going to soak the pillow," he observed regretfully. 

"That's okay. We'll sleep in the other bed." Mack stretched out next to him and mouthed gently along his collarbone. 

"What about you?" Blair asked, coming to an awareness of his responsibilities. He tried to reach down Mack's body, but his muscles were still jellified. 

"No hurry," Mack mumbled against the point of Blair's shoulder. "Plenty of time for you to get revved up again first. You're, what, ten years younger? And you haven't been poisoned this month." 

Blair stiffened. "You okay?" 

"I'm fine, it was a joke. I'm just not as quick on the trigger as a young hothead like you." Mack carded through the damp, cooling hair on Blair's chest. 

Blair frowned. "I can't tell if that's a compliment or an insult." 

"Depends on how fast you get going again." Mack nuzzled under Blair's ear, sending a jolt of excitement down his spine. 

"Not a problem, man." Blair levered himself up on one elbow, feeling a stirring of renewed interest below. It wouldn't be visible yet to any but a Sentinel's gaze. 

Mack glanced down and back up, blue eyes smiling. "Well?" 

"I want to touch you," Blair said, surveying the banquet spread out before him. He was tentative at first, unsure of his right to possess, but soon his hands were skimming eagerly over those sculpted planes. 

"You look like your face is gonna split in two," Mack commented. 

"All this _landscape_!" Blair breathed, forcing his smile to tone down a notch. 

"Feeling possessive?" 

"Very," growled Blair. He pinned Mack's shoulders to the bed, swung a leg over and straddled the other man, shifting back to tuck that hard shaft securely against his tailbone. His own cock filled and lengthened against Mack's belly. He considered his options and bent to nip at the rise of a pectoral muscle. 

Mack gave a small yelp. 

"Oh yeah," Blair groaned. "Definitely possessive." He buried his face in the curve of Mack's neck, licking and nuzzling. God, the man even _smelled_ like Jim! 

He experimented with touches and kisses of varying intensity, in various locations. In his dreams, he always knew exactly what to do to turn Jim on, how to calm and steady him, how to make him moan. But this wasn't Jim, and real life wasn't like that. Trial and error did involve error, and some of the things he tried brought no response from Mack. But slowly he built up a small catalog of sensitive spots, returning to each at times with a touch just barely too firm to be ticklish. Mack's nipples, somewhat to Blair's surprise, were very responsive, and he settled down for a happy bout of suckling until both were stiff and cherry-red. 

Once Blair got the hang of things, he found Mack to be gratifyingly noisy. The big man writhed and twisted under his touch, begging for more with broken words and whimpers. Blair worked his way slowly downward, humping softly against Mack's knee as he tasted the quivering skin of his stomach. 

A tentative hand touched his head, tucked under his chin and lifted. Blair looked up at Mack's flushed smile. 

"You want me?" Mack asked. 

It took a moment to sink in, then Blair felt his face heat. He had never tried that before, from either end -- mostly because his partners had always been bigger and he had nervously envisioned being on the bottom. Now the thought of having this great, powerful body leashed beneath him sent electric shivers along Blair's bones. 

"I think . . ." he gasped. "It might be too much. Too soon." If they did that, he could never get near Jim again without remembering. 

Who was he kidding? He would never take another shower without being reminded of this night. 

Mack just nodded gravely, tracing a finger along Blair's jaw. "How about a little sixty-nine, then?" 

Blair shuddered with desire, rolling his weight off Mack so they could change position. They ended up on their sides, each with his head pillowed on the other man's lower leg. Blair found himself prone to distraction by the lovely sensations at his groin, but he managed to mirror each touch he felt on Mack's body. 

Fingers first, stroking feather-soft and then more firmly. A gentle grip kneading and separating the balls below, then a tantalizing tongue-touch over the crown of the penis -- Blair was a little delayed in repeating that one, stunned by the sudden flare of his own pleasure. Next he imitated Mack by mouthing the other man's balls, tonguing and sucking. He ringed the stiff shaft with finger and thumb and pumped down once, twice, whimpering at the corresponding sensations. Then he gripped Mack's cock firmly by the base and settled his mouth warmly over the head, angling his tongue to sweep over the glans. Gentle sucking and a slight in-and-out motion combined with an exquisite fluttering of the tongue over the tip. 

Blair quivered and gasped, releasing Mack's cock in order to catch his breath. To his surprise, Mack's mouth left him as well, and he moaned in disappointment, then yelped at a stream of cool air blown over his wet cock. He directed a thin jet right at the slit on the head of Mack's penis, and had the satisfaction of feeling the thigh jerk under his head. Then Mack's warm mouth descended upon him again, and Blair occupied himself with taking in as much of the other man's penis as he could -- until he felt a slick finger probing between his cheeks. He had to pull back to keep from biting Mack as he was gently and carefully entered. It was a strange feeling; he'd never realized the anus was so sensitive. He'd experimented a bit on himself, but never let anyone else touch him there sexually. 

Swallowing his inhibitions, Blair licked his middle finger thoroughly and curved his arm over Mack's hip. It took him a moment to find what he was looking for; it was farther up near the balls than he expected. Once found, he centered his finger and pressed inward. The muscle clenched, then loosened to let him in, and he felt his own body tighten involuntarily around Mack's finger. The sucking started again, and he lowered his own mouth. The probe into his very core, the moist warmth over his cock, the slickness around his finger, and the smooth shaft stretching his lips all seemed to resonate with one another. It was like experiencing four different sides of the same act at once -- and the act was filling, thrusting, drawing, suckling. 

He moaned against Mack's groin, forcing his jaw to stay open. A deep answering groan throbbed through his flesh. Mack's finger pressed deeper, its fellows curling forward to tickle his balls. A sudden spike of sensation seared through him, almost unrecognizable as pleasure in its intensity. Then it came again and he sobbed, pressing forward to take as much of Mack's cock into his mouth as he could. He tried the same thing with his own finger, seeking deeper until Mack arched sharply against him. He waited for the answer from below and pushed his finger in again when it came. 

They moved in unison, the four acts repeating and elaborating each other, building slowly. The rhythms came together, faltered as one of them lost concentration amid the rush of pleasure, united again as Blair's awareness narrowed to the body around and within his. He struggled to keep his movements in line, awaiting that moment of resonance when their pleasure would leap like a bowed string. He could feel the perfection approaching, like a wall of fire burning from mouth and hand and groin inward, setting him alight until his entire body convulsed with heat, the tuning fork struck and ringing, ringing as pleasure flowed from his body into Mack's, from Mack's body into his, as muscle tightened around his finger and a finger filled him below. 

He came to his senses to find their bodies fallen apart and semen dribbling from his lips. He moved his tongue and swallowed desultorily. He had turned to jelly again. He tried to lift his head to look at Mack, but the supporting thigh-pillow had vanished. 

Then a soft towel was cleaning him before and behind and wiping his hand clean. A corner came up to dab at his mouth and he managed to move his eyes enough to bring Mack into view. 

"You really give it all you got, don't you, Tiger?" commented the grinning man. 

"Ungh." With a supreme effort, Blair lifted a hand to push his hair out of his face. "Never had that before. Both at the same time," he elaborated vaguely. "Not in sixty-nine, anyway." He succeeded in flopping onto his back and closed his eyes wearily. 

"Doesn't happen often," Mack observed with the superiority of vast experience. "But when it does . . . magic! Okay, come on, sleepyhead. Into the other bed." 

Blair mumbled incoherently as he was lifted and moved and covered with cool, soft sheets. He wriggled back against the warmth behind him, but instead of the arms that should have encircled and protected him, he received a hand slung loosely over his hip. It bothered him for a moment, but sleep soon overtook his uneasiness. 

  * * * 



As morning lit the room, Blair woke to find himself curled in a ball at the edge of the bed with all the blankets heaped on top of him; the rest of the bed was occupied by Mack, lying face down with arms and legs thrown askew, wearing one thin sheet. Who would have guessed the man would be a sprawler? At least he wasn't a blanket-stealer, Blair noted gratefully. He kept expecting Mack to be more like Jim. Not that he knew what position Jim slept in, except when he dozed off on the couch waiting for Blair to come home -- 

Blair shot up in the bed, throwing the covers off and lunging across Mack's prone form to reach the phone. He dialed frantically. 

The muscled lump beneath him stirred and groaned. "Ev'body still alive?" Mack mumbled into a pillow. 

Blair cursed as he got the answering machine. He stretched a little farther, almost toppling off the bed as he grabbed for the clock. Mack twisted and caught Blair neatly before he could fall. 

7:30, read the clock. "Shit!" Blair breathed. 

"Wassamatter?" asked Mack, still groggy despite his quick reflexes. 

"Nothing. Something I forgot." Blair finished climbing over the sleepy man and sat on the edge of the bed, dialing the number for the station. It was early for Jim to be there, but -- 

"Ellison." 

Blair sighed. "Hi, Jim." 

"Sandburg. Now, how did I know it was you?" 

"Jim, I'm _really_ sorry I forgot to call last night. I totally forgot. I just kinda lost track, you know?" Blair caught his breath and belatedly tried to think up an excuse. 

"Let me guess. Tall, good legs, long dark hair?" 

"Umm . . . short dark hair, actually." 

"Nice body?" 

" _Great_ body." Blair grinned. "Blue eyes, and a beautiful smile -- with dimples." 

"Sounds like a winner, Chief." 

"You callin' 900 numbers from my hotel room?" Mack mumbled around an upflung forearm. 

Blair grabbed a pillow and stuffed it over the other man's face, praying that Jim hadn't had his hearing turned up. "Anyway, like I said, I'm sorry. I won't forget again. Please tell me you didn't put out an APB on me?" 

"I was just about to print out your mugshot," Jim replied. 

Blair groaned. "Man, you are never going to let me forget being arrested, are you? Like it was my fault that heroin ended up in my car!" 

"Not only the heroin, but the heroine, too." 

"She was _not_ a heroine. Heroines are good guys." 

"Heroin?" Mack repeated, having wrestled the pillow off his face. 

Blair covered the mouthpiece. "Umm, you want the bathroom first, honey?" 

"Mmm," Mack assented, and stumbled out of the bed. An aggrieved "*Honey?*" floated back a moment later. 

"So Jim, I'll be in as soon as I can, okay? How you feeling -- you sleep all right last night?" 

"Fine, mom. Headache's gone. I got your message about the men Wolfe ID'ed, and I've been looking into Puget Chemicals' finances. There's some interesting stuff there. Holli's tests are finished running, too. She said she'd have an explanation for us as soon as you get in." 

Blair's brows went up. So it was `Holli' now, was it? "Okay man, see you in half an hour." He hung up and rushed to the bathroom, where Mack was peering blearily into the mirror. 

"Hey, I thought you said I could have the bathroom first," Mack protested as Blair adjusted the water temperature for a shower. 

"You also thought I called you `honey,'" Blair retorted, stepping into the bath and pulling the curtain. 

"You _did_ call me `honey!'" Mack concluded after a moment's thought. "And you said you had heroin in your car." 

"A woman, not the drug," Blair lied for simplicity's sake. "I am not a crook." 

"You stole my shower," Mack pointed out. 

"I'm willing to share. I just have to get out of here fast, that's all." Blair sniffed the little complimentary bottle of hotel shampoo and decided it would be acceptable. 

"Working on that case?" Mack asked. 

"Uh-huh," Blair said through the water cascading over his head. Then he remembered that Mack was involved. "Were you planning to come to the station?" It could look bad if they arrived together. 

"Nah," Mack said after a pause that tensed Blair's muscles. "I already gave my statement, and I have other things to do today. Besides, I get enough of that at home." 

"Okay. I'll probably see you around, though, right?" Blair lathered up the shampoo hastily. 

"Probably. I guess I would like to know how the case finishes up. You need to shave?" 

Blair considered. If he had really spent the night with a woman, he wouldn't have been able to borrow any equipment. "No, that's okay, I'll do without." 

"So Ellison likes scruffy, huh?" Mack chuckled. 

"No, but he does like punctual," Blair answered, before realizing how much he had just revealed. 

"Fine. Have a great day. I'm going back to bed." 

Blair rinsed and toweled his hair as quickly as he could, not bothering with the hair-dryer attached to the wall. He found his clothes lying half in the bathroom and half in the entryway, pulling them on with minimal concern for how rumpled he would look. He peeked around the corner to see Mack stretched out with his head under the pillow again. "Dinner?" he said softly. 

"Mmm," the pillow affirmed vaguely. 

Blair let himself out. 

  * * * 



Sam met them as they entered the lab at the station. "Dr. Holliday is running a couple of last tests," she explained. "She asked me if I could explain the background to you guys. Is that okay with you?" She was looking straight at Blair. 

"Sounds good. What do we need to know?" Jim asked. 

"Well . . . maybe we should start with a little experiment. Blair, could you --" she held out a plastic packet. 

"Unh-uh." Blair held up his hands and backed away, using Jim's bulk as cover. "No experiments today." 

"I was just going to ask you to chew up some of these crackers for me," Sam said innocently. She pulled a salted cracker from the top of the packet and popped it into her mouth with relish. "Jim, maybe _you_ would be willing to help." She extended two crackers toward him. 

"That's okay, I'll do it!" Blair said, snatching them from her hand before Jim could move. "What am I supposed to do?" He looked at the crackers as if they were scorpions about to bite him. 

"Chew them into little bits, get them good and mushy in your mouth, and *don't* swallow," Sam ordered him. "Well, go on." 

Blair chewed the crackers tentatively. 

"Good. Now just keep them in your mouth -- and remember, you shouldn't talk with your mouth full!" 

Blair glared daggers at her. 

Sam smiled wickedly. "Now, the stuff you brought in to be tested is supposed to be an artificial sweetener, right?" 

"Yeah, we knew that," Jim put in. 

"So I'm just going to fill you in on how it's designed. Common sugars like the ones we're dealing with are made up of monosaccharides -- six carbon atoms in a ring, with hydroxyl groups hanging off each carbon." 

On her computer screen, Sam pointed out a chemical diagram that looked something like a crown of thorns, with little C's, H's and O's stuck on the spikes. Or maybe a bracelet of thorns, Jim decided, seeing how small it was. 

"There are lots of monosaccharides, like glucose, fructose, galactose, and so on . . . table sugar, or sucrose, is actually a disaccharide. That means it's made up of two monosaccharides linked together." 

The next diagram showed a double ring, which Jim immediately dubbed thorn handcuffs. 

"Sugar -- that is, sucrose -- gets digested mainly in the small intestine, where it's broken down into glucose and fructose. The fructose doesn't pass through the walls of the small intestine very well, but glucose gets absorbed right into the bloodstream, where it gives energy to the cells of the body. That's why sugar has calories." 

Footsteps coming up behind heralded the arrival of Dr. Holliday. "Thanks for filling in for me, Sam," she said pleasantly. "Why don't you go on?" 

Sam smiled. "But there's also another way sugars are digested. There's an enzyme in our saliva which works to break down disaccharides and polysaccharides -- like complex carbohydrates -- into their component monosaccharides. How do those crackers taste now, Blair?" 

Blair smacked his lips in puzzlement. "Shwee'," he concluded. 

"Sweet, that's right. The crackers are full of complex carbohydrates, and your saliva is beginning to break those down into glucose. Oh, go ahead and swallow now, Blair." 

"Hanksh," Blair managed. "Uh . . . wa'er?" 

"There's a fountain just outside the door," Sam said a little impatiently. She kept talking as Blair stepped out. "But you notice, that took a while. Those salivary enzymes can't break down the big molecules immediately. That's why people don't ordinarily think of crackers, or bread, or potatoes as being sweet. We usually just chew and swallow, and all the digestion happens down below." 

"Right," said Holli. "So now you have the background on how sugars are built and digested, let's talk about our new friend Sucraslim. The trick to making an artificial sweetener is that you want something that binds to the sweetness receptors in human taste buds in the same way that sugar does -- but doesn't get digested the same way. It either has to be something like fructose, that doesn't pass the  
intestinal wall, or something that simply doesn't impart energy to the cells. But it still has to be similar enough to sugar to fool the taste receptors." 

Holli gestured at Sam, who began calling something new up on the computer screen. 

Holli went on. "Now, it appears that this new stuff, Sucraslim, was designed very simply. The makers took the basic sucrose molecule --" she pointed at the thorn handcuffs Jim had seen before "-- and replaced some of the hydroxyl groups with nitrous groups instead." 

The new molecule on Sam's screen looked just the same, but some of the thorns had little N's stuck to the O's instead of H's. 

"The basic shape of the molecule is almost unchanged, so the taste -- and probably smell -- will be identical to sugar. But the new chemical bonds have different valences, so when the Sucraslim is exposed to stomach acids, it breaks down in a completely different way." 

Sam pressed a key, and the molecule on the screen fell apart into four or five pieces. "No glucose, no energy for the cells -- zero calories." 

"Right, Sam," said Holli. "But the problem, as we discovered last night, comes when Sucraslim is digested by salivary enzymes instead of going straight to the stomach." 

Sam pressed another key. "When that happens, some of the hydrogen, carbon, and nitrogen molecules are left to combine with each other into HCN." 

"Cyanide," Holli concluded. 

Jim studied the little chemical symbols swimming around the screen. "So you've proved that what I tasted was real." Basically they had just said what he already knew, only with big words and computer graphics. 

"What I can't understand," Holli said slowly, "is _why_ you tasted it. As Sam was saying, it takes time to break down those molecules, and from what we saw, the cyanide-producing reaction isn't very efficient. But you said you tasted cyanide within seconds of putting the stuff on your tongue. Are you taking any sialorrheic medications? Anything with cholinergic side effects?" 

Jim shared a blank look with Blair, who shrugged. 

"I mean, are you on any drugs which would cause you to salivate more?" Holli simplified. 

"No, I'm not taking anything," Jim replied. 

"But you know, it was right after dinner," Blair volunteered. "Maybe his saliva was doing overtime because the food was so good." 

"Uh . . . huh," Holli said doubtfully. 

Jim frowned at his partner, who shifted a little closer and whispered, "You probably tasted it early because you're so sensitive, even though only a tiny amount had been converted." 

Jim nodded shortly. "So how could this possibly tie in to our kidnapping?" 

"I don't know about kidnapping," Holli said, "but it certainly would have an effect on their chances of getting FDA approval. Last I heard, nothing at all was mentioned about possible cyanogenic characteristics. I'd guess the FDA hasn't figured out all the ramifications yet." 

"And if they did, they wouldn't approve the stuff?" 

Holli grimaced. "Maybe, maybe not. Other sweeteners sometimes have noxious by-products -- aspartame, for example. When you heat it, it breaks down into formaldehyde. And cyanide does occur naturally in a number of foods, like apple seeds and apricot kernels. My estimate is that you'd have to take about a tablespoon of this stuff and hold it in your mouth for at least five or ten minutes to get a lethal dose. It would taste pretty bad and start to burn after a while, so I doubt anyone would actually do that." 

"I think I hear a `but' in there somewhere," Jim said. 

Holli pursed her lips in agreement. "*But,* if the FDA found out, there would almost certainly be restrictions on how Sucraslim could be sold. One of the nice things about the design of this molecule is that it should behave like sugar in solution and at high temperatures; that means it could be used for baking. Think about it -- sugar-free brownies from scratch. But the FDA might decide that it could only be sold in small quantities, like these teaspoon-sized packets. That would only be good for sweetening drinks. It would wipe out over half their potential market. And any kind of warning on the packets, especially if there was a media scare about the possibility of accidental poisoning -- that could really make the company look bad." 

Jim nodded. "So, for instance, if the company was in financial trouble, being hounded by bigger companies that want to buy them out . . . if they were only holding off their creditors by promising to pay everything as soon as they got their FDA approval . . . if they were _counting_ on the sales of this stuff to pull them out of the hole . . ." 

Blair jumped in. "And, supposing one of their chemists found out that the stuff could produce cyanide under the right conditions and threatened to go public with it . . ." 

"Then some of the tough guys in the company, like maybe the machinists or engineers, might be assigned to keep the chemist in line," Jim concluded. 

"Sounds like we could have a motive," Blair decided, bouncing on his heels. 

"Yeah. I think we should go have another talk with Quentin Shoemacher." Jim smiled. "Holli, thanks a lot for your help. And you too, Sam." 

Sam looked a little sour; Blair had already skipped out the door. 

  * * * 



With a call to Puget Chemicals, Jim confirmed that the plant offices were closed for Sunday, so they sought out Shoemacher at his suburban home instead. 

On the way Jim asked, "So, did you learn anything from Wolfe last night?" He heard his partner's increased heartrate and looked at him in puzzlement. Was Sandburg blushing? 

"Uh, yeah, man. He ID'ed two of the guys from the parking lot. You knew that." 

"I mean, did you find out if he's a Sentinel?" 

"Oh!" Blair sounded relieved. "He's not. Now I'm trying to figure out if he's a pre-Sentinel or not. You know, he was wondering if the two of you could be related somehow." 

"Related?" 

"Yeah, same great-grandparents or whatever somewhere in the family tree. He certainly does seem to have almost the same genetic makeup as you. But genes aren't everything when it comes to being a Sentinel." 

Jim raised an eyebrow. "I thought that was part of your theory -- the genetic angle." 

"It is. But now that I've found out that you had enhanced senses when you were a kid, it puts a different spin on things." 

"How?" 

"Well, from what I've seen working with you, there's more to this Sentinel thing than just hyperacute senses. It also involves a lot of pattern matching. That's something that would have to be learned in childhood or even infancy." 

"What do you mean `pattern matching?'" Jim asked. 

"Um . . ." Blair considered. "Okay, see, it's not enough just to have senses that are 100 times as acute as a normal person's -- you also have to recognize what you see. In technical terms, you have to be able to filter through sensory input with a very low signal-to-noise ratio. Like seeing footprints in a shag carpet, or hearing a single voice in a noisy crowd." 

"Or tasting bitter almonds underneath all that sweet stuff last night?" 

"Yeah, exactly!" Blair bounced with enthusiasm, half-turning in his seat. "But see, that part of it isn't a sensory thing -- it's not in the nose or the eyes or fingertips. It's post-processing that occurs in the brain. I don't think you could learn it as an adult." 

"So you're saying, what? Even if Wolfe is a potential Sentinel . . ." 

"He might be able to develop the acute senses under the right conditions, but he couldn't use them as efficiently as you do. In fact, he might have more trouble than you at blocking out unwanted information." 

"He'd go insane," Jim murmured. 

"Maybe." Blair brushed over the possibility. "But my point is, with patterns that he's already trained to recognize, Mack does show some sensory enhancement. Remember that music in the restaurant last night? I could barely hear it, much less tell that it was out of tune. But Mack's a musician, and he picked up on it right away." 

Jim frowned. "The music wasn't _that_ quiet. You have any evidence besides that?" 

Blair sighed. "No. That's why I'd like to have a chance to observe him some more." 

Jim realized that his partner was blushing again, but he didn't have time to ask why, because they had arrived at Shoemacher's place. Where the man's office had been understated, his house was very upscale: an imposing three-story structure of red brick with a fourcar garage at one side and white trim that gleamed across an expansive, perfectly-groomed lawn. 

"Whoa," said Blair as they pulled into the curving driveway. "It's even bigger than your dad's place." 

Jim grimaced, remembering the `rich kid' taunts he had suffered in school. At times he would rather have lived in a mobile home. 

They left Jim's truck looking out of place in the drive and marched up to the paneled front door. Jim could hear pop music playing loudly inside, and it was several minutes before footsteps came in answer to the bell. The door was opened by a girl in her early teens with light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She blinked up at them. "Hi." 

"Hello," said Jim gently. "Are your parents home?" 

"MOM!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, still staring at them solemnly. 

Footsteps sounded, then a pause, and the music became dramatically quieter. "Honey, if you didn't play the stereo so loud, you wouldn't have to scream," a woman scolded as she came around the corner. Her dark brown curls and pleasant smile reminded Jim somewhat of Sandburg, though she was less effervescent. "Hello," she said to the strangers. "Can I help you?" 

The daughter was already disappearing down the hallway. 

"Hi," said Jim. "I'm Detective Ellison with the Cascade PD. I was wondering if I could speak to your husband?" 

Mrs. Shoemacher's eyes widened at the sight of Jim's badge. "Oh! He isn't in any trouble, is he?" 

At the top of a curving staircase, a cap of disarranged cornsilk peeked at them. Another head craned around the opposite corner. It took Jim a moment to realize the two boys were identical. 

"No, ma'am. We just wanted to talk to him about a vehicle that was stolen from his company yesterday." 

In the background, the music began to boom again. 

"Oh. Oh, certainly. He's in his study. I'll show you." Mrs. Shoemacher gestured them into the house and closed the door. "Brenda!" she shouted as she led the way down the hall. "Turn that music down or I'll pull the plug!" 

"Mo-ommm!" the girl's voice protested. 

"Why don't you take your brothers outside and play? It's a lovely day outside. The sun is shining!" 

"Oh, yeah, so we can all get skin cancer," Brenda returned sarcastically. 

Jim had to purse his lips together to keep from laughing. 

Mrs. Shoemacher led them to another heavy oak door and knocked briefly before opening it. "Quentin?" she called softly. "There are some gentlemen here from the police." 

The study was masculine, paneled in wood and curtained against the sun. A complete home office with computer, printer, fax and xerox filled one wall. Shoemacher, sitting at a desk with his back to the door, spun around to face them. 

"Detective Ellison!" he said in surprise. "Come in. You're working on a Sunday? Oh, I suppose that's a stupid question, isn't it? Of course the police work on weekends." 

"Actually," Jim said as he advanced into the room, "I was supposed to have this weekend off, but something urgent came up. We've found something about the people involved in yesterday's kidnapping." 

Blair pullled the color printout from his backpack and passed it into Jim's hands. 

"The man on the right was the driver," Jim explained as he pointed out the circled faces. "This man, Felix Gearhardt, is the one we believe was kidnapped. Both of them are your employees, aren't they?" 

"Why, yes!" said Shoemacher, studying the printout. "And you say Roy was driving the van?" 

"That's right." 

"Well, then, it wasn't stolen after all! End of problem." 

"There's still the question of why Mr. Barrett and another man led Mr. Gearhardt away at gunpoint." 

Shoemacher looked up, eyes wide. "Gunpoint! Are you sure?" 

"We have a witness." 

"How far away was this witness? Are they sure it was a gun? Maybe Roy was holding a, a soldering iron or something." 

"That doesn't explain why Barrett was in town yesterday with the company van when he was supposed to be away." 

"Oh." Shoemacher frowned. "What time did this so-called kidnapping take place?" 

"Around noon yesterday." 

"Well, you see! That was an hour before Roy and Felix had to be at the airport to catch their flight. I'm sure Roy just went to pick Felix up, to make sure he would be on time. Your witness was mistaken." 

"You're saying they left town together?" 

"Oh, yes. They were both on their way to a conference in Chicago. It starts on Monday, but there are some important pre-conference meetings as well. I can give you the number of the hotel, it's a Hilton --" Shoemacher sorted through some papers on his desk. "It's not actually in Chicago -- one of the suburbs, I think. But there's the number, anyway. You can call and make sure they made it safely." 

Jim scowled at the conference flyer he'd been handed. He was sure Shoemacher was lying, but couldn't figure out how to catch him at it. 

"I thought Barrett was a mechanical engineer and Gearhardt was a chemist," Blair offered, looking over Jim's shoulder. "Why would they both be going to the same conference?" 

Jim gave his partner a quick grin. 

Shoemacher cleared his throat. "Well, as you can see from the flyer, the subject is large-scale electrolysis. We're looking to expand our production, and that's Felix's area of expertise. And Roy designs much of our equipment as well as maintaining it. There are talks planned that would interest each of them." 

Blair tried again. "Why would Barrett have the company van? Didn't you say he was the one who reported it missing?" 

"Did I say that? No no, you must have misunderstood me. I'm sure Roy just forgot to sign the van out. It was Jason Warren who thought it was missing." 

"Was anyone else from your company going to this Chicago conference?" Jim asked. 

"I don't believe so. Why?" 

"I was just wondering who the third man was in the parking lot," Jim mused. "Our witness didn't get a very good look, but it could have been another of your employees." 

"It was probably someone to drop them off at the airport and take the van afterwards. I'm sure we'll find it back in the parking lot on Monday." Shoemacher smiled in satisfaction. "I'm so glad we've cleared this all up, Detective, and I'm sorry to have wasted your time with a false alarm." 

Jim shook his head when Blair would have protested, and they allowed themselves to be conducted back to the door. On the front steps of the house, Blair tugged furiously at the zipper of his jacket. 

"That wasn't any soldering iron, Jim!" he hissed. "I know a gun when I see it. And what about the way those guys tried to run Mack down?" 

"Shhh," Jim urged, cocking his head. Shoemacher's footsteps returned to the study. 

Blair came alert at once. "What's he doing?" 

"Making a phone call." Jim frowned. "He's saying . . . they have to get Felix out of the way . . . and take the van back to the plant." 

Blair's eyes widened. "Who's on the other end? Can you hear?" 

Jim shook his head. "That music is too loud." 

"Filter it out!" 

"Too late. He hung up." 

"Well at least we know it really is a kidnapping! Let's go get the truth out of him." Blair reached for the doorbell again. 

Jim caught his hand. "Hold it, Chief. I can't tell him I listened in on his conversation! It's invasion of privacy, not to mention that he wouldn't believe it was possible." 

"What are we going to do, then?" 

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. "Set up a stakeout on Shoemacher, and look for any other leads on where they might be holding Gearhardt." 

"Man, that sucks!" 

"It's police work, Chief. Gotta stick to the rules. Come on, let's go check up on this Chicago conference thing, see if we can trip him up with his own lies." 

  * * * 



Mack stood on the sidewalk contemplating the white-pillared house before him and pulling his light jacket a little tighter around his shoulders. This was stupid; he should just go in. But he was becoming more and more certain that if the answers to his questions lay behind that door, he didn't want to know. 

Unfortunately, curiosity had always been one of Mack Wolfe's besetting sins. That and tenacity were what made him a good detective, despite his reputation as a troublemaker. In two more minutes, he decided, he would go knock on that door. Then it would all be over, one way or another. 

He cheered himself by pulling out his phone, sticking the earpiece in his ear, and dialing the number Blair had given him. 

"Ellison." 

Mack swallowed. Affecting a hesitant, somewhat nasal tone, he said, "Um, could I speak to Blair Sandburg please?" 

"Chief -- sounds like another one of your students." Ellison's voice faded as he held the phone out. 

Blair's voice grew stronger in the same proportion. " . . . swear, man, I didn't give out this number! Hello?" 

"Hey, it's me." 

"J-- M-- Hi! What's up?" 

"I was just wondering if I imagined you suggesting dinner when you slipped out this morning?" 

"Uh, no, you didn't imagine it. Not sure if I can get free, though -- you know how it is." 

"Don't I just. Hey listen, what time's the last race on Sundays at Lastings?" 

"Um, five thirty, I think." 

"Well, maybe if your partner lets you have a little time off, we could make up for some of yesterday's lost time." 

"Uh -- yeah, that sounds great. We're kind of at a dead end here, right now. So unless something breaks, I'll meet you there." 

"Great. It's a date, then." Mack pulled the earpiece out with a grin. Now he could face anything. He stepped down the aisle of ferociously-trimmed hedges, stepped up to the front door, and knocked. 

After a minute, a diminutive Asian woman opened the door. Her face creased into a broad grin. "Jimmy! I'm so glad you come back! Your father will be glad to see you. Come in, come in!" 

Mack swallowed as he crossed the threshold into a sort of rotunda and the small woman embraced him wholeheartedly. Who the hell was this? he wondered -- stepmother, nanny . . . _mother_? No, surely not -- too short. 

"Your father is in the den. Go, go! I'll bring some tea." She flapped her apron to shoo him off to the right. 

Mack stepped tentatively through the arched doorway. At the second turning, he found a room with two armchairs and a coffee table which looked slightly more lived-in than the rest of the chill house. A man sat in one of the chairs studying a newspaper and nibbling on the end of a pen. 

William Ellison looked up and broke into a rusty smile at the sight of Mack. He climbed to his feet, dropping his pen and half-finished crossword onto the table. "Jimmy! I've been hoping you'd drop by, ever since . . . well, I'm glad to see you." 

He was a few inches shorter than Mack, with peppered brown hair, a thick mustache, and watery grey eyes. Mack's first thought was that the man bore quite a resemblance to Detective Ellison. His next reaction was a sudden and unreasoning fury. "Hi, pops!" he said with a sharp edge to his voice. 

  * * * 



Jim stared at his computer, fingers rubbing circles at his temples. He was getting nowhere. Barrett and Gearhardt had indeed checked into their hotel in Chicago, but amid the conference crowds none of the clerks could give an exact description of the men to establish if they were the right people. Coordination with the Chicago police was unlikely to produce anything since they were completely swamped with their own cases. The stakeout on Shoemacher was going nowhere, and there was still no response to the APB on the green van. 

"Hey, Ellison!" called one of the uniforms passing through the room. 

Jim knuckled his eyes. "Yeah, Ricardo? You got something for me?" 

"Huh? Oh, no. Just thought I'd mention that I saw you at the dance club last night." The man grinned. 

"What dance club?" 

" _You_ know!" Ricardo winked. "You got some hot moves, Ellison. Cute date, too." He chuckled. "I always figured there was something going on there." 

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Whoever you saw last night, it wasn't me." Jim froze as he realized just who it _could_ have been. 

"Yeah, yeah. Keep denying it, Ellison. I know what I saw!" Ricardo laughed and continued on his way. 

Wolfe. Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. It had to have been Wolfe, out painting the town and ruining Jim's reputation in the process. Something about the man had bothered Jim from the moment they met. Abandoning his fruitless efforts on the kidnapping case, Jim turned to a more interesting problem. 

It wasn't hard to obtain Wolfe's records. Jim hesitated a moment before entering the files. Did he really have any grounds for suspecting this man, aside from the coincidence of his looks and his sudden friendliness with Blair? Wolfe was a cop -- why would he be involved in anything shady? Still, there was that whispered spat with Dr. Holliday before dinner. And Jim's instincts had been right before, when Blair was lusting after the neighbor from Hell. He just hated to see Sandburg getting involved with people who inevitably hurt him. There was nothing more to it than that. Setting aside his doubts, Jim double-clicked on the first file. 

At first glance, there was nothing alarming. Occasional minor disciplinary infractions, usually having to do with pressing an investigation when he had been ordered to stop; it would be hypocritical for Jim to object to that. There had been a suspicion nearly two years ago that Wolfe had some involvement in his partner's shooting, but that was explicitly cleared a few months later. Again, Jim's own history kept him from leaping to conclusions. And Wolfe had almost as good a case-solved rate as Ellison himself. 

Before the police, Wolfe had been with . . . the military police? Jim grimaced, an involuntary reaction to the thought of being suspected by one's own people. It was almost as bad as if Wolfe had been in Internal Affairs. Still, it was at least the right side of the law. Wolfe's record with the MPs had been good, until he was officially reprimanded in connection with a bust that had gone wrong and gotten two men killed. Jim frowned over the limited information his computer could call up. Wolfe himself had been injured in the incident, so at least he had not sent his buddies in to die alone. It might have been an isolated mistake. 

Abandoning the man's employment records, Jim turned to his finances. The dirt showed up at once. Wolfe was being sought by half a dozen debt collectors, and his credit rating was in the basement. He had been audited twice by the IRS, and had declared bankruptcy once eight years ago when some fly-by-night business scheme fell through. Cross- checking, Jim managed to connect some of the financial problems to reprimands on his police record; apparently Wolfe's attempts to raise money frequently got him in worse trouble. There was mention of a gambling habit; hadn't Blair met the man at the race track? 

This was potentially damning. With that kind of debt weighing him down, Wolfe's motivations had to be suspect. Jim's detective instincts told him that there could be something important here. Yet, out of fairness, he tried to look at the evidence as a whole. Wolfe had shown definite signs of improvement in the last year and a half. His case-solved rate had gotten better, official complaints had diminished, and he had gone from being over a hundred thousand dollars in debt to a mere seventy thousand. 

Jim looked into the source of the sudden payoff a little more closely. It seemed innocent enough: an absence of car payments because the PD had bought Wolfe a vehicle; extra income from various night jobs; a divorce settlement -- yes, she did make more money than her exhusband; and a modest inheritance. 

Jim stiffened. Money -- similar looks -- inheritance. Shoemacher's two sons niggled at his mind. Blair's comments about the possibility that he and Wolfe could be related came back, along with Holli's strange reaction when he'd mentioned the same subject to her. He shut the computer down and reached for his coat. He had to go talk to his father. 

  * * * 



Jim parked his truck up against the curb in front of his father's house. He was just pulling the keys from the ignition when movement caught his eye and he froze in astonished fury. 

Mack Wolfe was jogging down the front walk of the house. 

Slamming the truck door, Jim moved quickly to intercept his double. Wolfe was scowling down at the ground and didn't see Jim until a palm slammed into his chest, stopping him in his tracks. 

"What the hell are you doing here, Wolfe?" 

The lieutenant looked up, startled and looking curiously vulnerable. "I, ehmmm -- I was just --" 

"Trying to raise money with another one of your schemes, huh?" Jim stabbed a finger at the other man's chest. "You found out my father was loaded, so you came here pretending to be me -- is that it? That's stooping pretty low, Wolfe." 

Wolfe's eyes closed for a moment as he fought for control. "That's not why I came here," he said slowly. 

"Then why?" 

Wolfe opened his eyes and fixed a glare on Jim. "You know, I'm almost tempted to tell you. But you wouldn't believe me anyway. Why don't you go ask your old man?" He pushed Jim's hand away and stepped around him. 

Jim whirled and caught the other man's arm. "What have you been saying to him? Were you harassing my dad?" 

Wolfe's fists clenched, but he merely yanked his arm free. "I didn't do a damn thing to him," he growled. "Why don't you ask him what he did to _me_? Now keep your hands off me, Ellison, unless you want a harassment charge." He hurried down the sidewalk and rounded the corner out of sight. 

Jim stared after his double for a moment, trying to understand the man's behavior. Then he ran up the steps to his boyhood home. He didn't think of knocking, but went right in and started searching for his father. 

William Ellison was in the den, pacing furiously before the fireplace and muttering under his breath. He looked up as Jim came to the door, and stormed over to him. 

"I thought I told you to get out of here!" he raged. 

Jim hesitated for a second, years of long-forgotten conditioning kicking in. The boys were not to disturb their father when he retreated to the den, and they certainly weren't allowed to talk back when he was angry. 

"If you expect to get one red cent out of me, you've got another think coming!" Ellison went on. "Anything that was between your mother and me is over now. She's dead! I don't owe you anything." 

Jim's jaw dropped in shock. "Jesus, Dad! You mean he really is -- that you --" 

Ellison's diatribe broke off, and he looked more closely at his son. "Jimmy?" he said in appalled tones. 

"You thought I was him, trying to get money out of you? But -- I don't get it. You knew his mother?" 

William Ellison dragged a hand over his face. "Jimmy. I didn't realize \-- I thought you were . . . you mean you've met him?" 

Jim shook his head in confusion. "Yeah. He's a cop, we're working on a case together. He thought we might be . . . oh God, we _are_ related, aren't we? We're brothers. You knew his mother!" 

"Now, Jimmy --" 

"When did you know her? Were you married before Mom?" For some reason, Shoemacher's young boys flashed once more into Jim's mind. "No. No, it doesn't make sense. Why isn't he an Ellison?" 

William Ellison gripped his son's shoulders. "Jimmy, I can explain. His mother was . . . I made a mistake. We were both very young." 

Jim pulled away. "No. No, wait. He was born -- when was he born?" He had seen Wolfe's birthdate on his records, and something about it caught Jim's attention. What was it? "He has the same birthday as me. Same year, same day. Oh, God. We're twins, aren't we?" Knees weakening, Jim sank onto the couch. How could he not have noticed? Jim had been lying about his birthdate ever since his black ops work instilled a certain sense of paranoia, but he had never forgotten the real date. How could he have looked at those numbers in Wolfe's file and not realized what they meant? 

`Almost the same genetic makeup,' Jim recalled his partner's voice saying. `Same great-grandparents or whatever . . .' *Oh yeah, Chief,* Jim thought as he buried his face in his hands. *We have the same great-grandparents all right. In fact, we have the same mother and father, the same fucking birthday . . .* Jim raised his head slowly, trying to focus on the flood of excuses his father was making. "How?" he asked in a hoarse, foreign voice. 

"Jimmy, please, listen to me --" William Ellison was on his knees before the couch. 

"I'll listen as soon as you tell me something! Like how come he ended up with one family and I was with another? Which --" Jim swallowed. "Which one is real? Are you even really my father?" 

"Of course I'm your father, Jimmy!" 

"And Mom? What about her?" 

"Look, you have to understand --" 

"Just tell me, dammit! Was she really my mother?" 

Ellison stepped back. "No." 

"Jesus. You mean . . . I was adopted?" 

"No! Jimmy, you're my son, my eldest!" 

"And what about Wolfe? Isn't he your son too? What did you do, give him up for adoption? Leave him on the church steps in a basket?" 

"His mother wanted --" 

"My mother. You mean _my_ mother. Jesus, I never even met her!" 

"Jimmy, please, let me explain!" 

Jim took a deep breath, trying to bottle his rage. To his surprise, calm came to him quickly. It seemed Sandburg's exercises were paying off. "All right. Tell me. The truth." 

William Ellison ran a hand through his hair, climbing unsteadily to his feet. He moved stiffly to his favorite armchair and sank into it. "Your mother --" he began, then winced. "Grace. My wife. The doctors said she couldn't have children. But she always wanted a baby. When she learned that I had been . . . indiscreet --" 

"Unfaithful," Jim corrected. 

Ellison swallowed. "Yes." 

"Who was she, my real mother?" 

"A girl I had known for years, since before I met your m -- Grace. We were all so young, so careless in those days. We didn't realize --" 

"Forget the excuses and just go on," Jim growled. 

"Well. When Grace found out that my young friend was pregnant, she promised not to make a fuss about it if we could raise the baby. Beth was terrified. Being an unwed mother carried a terrible stigma back then, and illegal abortions were often fatal. She was eager to give the baby to someone else, and she made us agree to help her conceal the pregnancy from her family." 

"But it wasn't just a baby. It was twins." 

"Yes. We didn't find that out until she was almost due. In those days, pre-natal care was less --" 

Jim cut him off. "So you went back on your agreement and left her with a child she couldn't take care of?" 

"No! It was Beth's idea. When she saw the babies, she began to cry. She said she'd changed her mind, that she couldn't bear to give them up." 

"But you took one anyway." 

"She couldn't care for two children! She was just a foolish girl, with no money and no prospects. For nine months she had been telling us she couldn't possibly go to her parents for help. Now suddenly she said it didn't matter, that she had to have her babies no matter what it cost her socially or financially. So we made a bargain. I said I would help support her and one of the babies if she would give us the other." 

"You _bought_ me?" 

"No! It was -- it was the best solution for all of us. Grace and I had the child we wanted, and I helped Beth get through nursing school. Then she met some fellow who was willing to marry her in spite of her past, and after that I scarcely heard from her." 

"You bought a baby. You paid money for your son -- for me!" 

"Son, I wanted to keep both babies. But she was threatening to tell everyone --" 

"You let her blackmail you. And now you're going to let Wolfe do the same?" 

"I'm not giving him any money. He's a grown man, he has no claim on me. And there's no one he could tell, anyway. I'm retired, all my old friends have moved away." 

"What did you tell them back then? How did you convince the world I was your child?" 

"You are my child!" 

"But not your wife's." 

"Grace told everyone she was pregnant. She wore loose clothes, claimed the women in her family never showed much. Then around the sixth month we spread the story that she was having a difficult time. She stopped going out. I took Grace and Beth out of the state, telling everyone we were seeing a specialist. But really it was to keep Beth's pregnancy secret from her family." 

"And then you just showed up back in town with a newborn baby." 

"Jimmy, don't blame your mother -- she loved you so much." 

"Which one?" Jim asked stonily. "Which mother?" 

"Grace! She was so happy to have a child. She held you and sang to you -- she glowed when we brought you home." 

"But she wasn't happy enough to stick around for more than a few years." 

William Ellison sighed. "There was trouble between us. We had married too young -- we didn't realize at the time how little we had in common. She started to drift away. I knew I was losing her. And so --" He broke off, tight-lipped. 

"Stevie," Jim realized. If Grace Ellison had been unable to have children . . . "Who was _his_ mother?" 

Ellison gulped. "She was a college student. She worked as a secretary with my firm one summer, and --" 

"And you seduced her." Jim surged to his feet, unable to stay still any longer. "How many were there, Dad? How many affairs on the side? No wonder Mo -- your wife couldn't stand to stay with you." 

"I thought perhaps another baby --" 

"Oh, right. You impregnated some college intern solely to make your wife happy. And then you were surprised when she left you with the kids!" 

"Jimmy --" 

"My God, what did you do, seduce every woman you ever came into contact with?" 

"Look, son, you don't understand." 

"How many other brothers and sisters do I have?" Jim froze as a new thought came to him. "Oh my God. Sally. You did it to her too, didn't you?" 

"That's none of your concern --" 

"No wonder she never went to work for anyone else. She stuck by you all these years, and you never married her!" 

"Sally is a very special woman." 

"You told us all that her husband was dead. She bore you a _son_ and the best you could do was to treat her as a servant all her life!" 

"My relationship with Sally is --" 

"It's sick, that's what it is!" Jim snarled. 

Ellison stiffened. "Don't take that tone with me, boy." 

"At least you let her bring Danny here with her when he was little. Damn it, I always thought of him like a little brother, and all this time . . . but you couldn't tell us, could you? You couldn't admit what you'd done." 

"Maybe you'd better stop passing judgment on something you know nothing about," Ellison said in ominous tones. 

Jim loomed over his father, refusing to back down. "He died in my arms, did you know that? My own brother, and neither of us ever knew it -- and you didn't even come to the fucking funeral!" 

"I was out of the country --" 

"What was it this time, huh? You weren't married when Danny came along. Why couldn't you just admit it? Is it because Sally's Vietnamese -- is that it? You couldn't bear for the world to know you had a half-breed son?" 

"That's enough!" Ellison snapped. "You don't know what you're talking about!" 

"Why didn't I ever realize what a fucking bigot you are?" 

"Shut your mouth, boy! You will not speak to me in that way!" Ellison roared. 

The shout reverberated straight down Jim's spine, and he felt his fists clench involuntarily. "I have to go," he growled. "Before I -- I just need to go." He headed for the hall. 

"James Joseph Ellison, you get back here right now!" His father bellowed. 

Jim shook his head, leaving the house that still felt smaller than it should, hearing the angry voice that had once terrified him fade into the distance. Sally was standing in the corner of the hall as he passed, her hands wringing a dishtowel -- but he couldn't speak to her. The need to get away was paramount. He was in his truck and down the street before he knew it. 

  * * * 



"Snowdancer," Blair pronounced positively, looking over the field. 

"You gotta be kidding!" Mack exclaimed. "At thirty to one?" 

Blair swatted the taller man on the shoulder. "Don't look at the betting form, look at the people!" 

Mack studied the milling forms in the paddock. "Not the horses?" 

"Equine body language is harder to read. Humans are . . . eloquent. Look at that, look at the expression on that jockey's face! And the other trainers keep stopping by to talk to Snowdancer's trainer." 

"Blair -- buddy -- I've heard of this horse. His nickname is Slowdancer." 

"Maybe they're setting something up, then." 

"What!" 

Blair glanced up at his companion. "You're not going to tell me things like that don't happen, are you?" 

"Of course it happens, but it's always a big secret! Sometimes you hear about it from a bookie in the know -- but these guys, they're professionals. They could lose their careers if anyone finds out they rigged a race. They're not going to just walk around announcing it to the world! Anyway," his voice calmed a little, "I still don't see what you're talking about." 

"It's subtle, man, not an announcement like you said. You have to watch closely. Come on, you're a detective, you study human behavior all the time! Think of them as suspects." 

Mack watched the people walking the horses for a minute. "I don't know, Tiger. They all look guilty to me." 

"Come on, we gotta get to the betting windows before the post call. You gonna take my advice?" 

"I'm betting the favorite." Mack looked down at his companion and relented. "But I'll put ten on Snowdancer too. After that last race, I can afford it." 

"And who told you which way to bet, huh?" Blair nudged the other man with his elbow. 

"I admit, it's an interesting system you got there. I'll keep it in mind." 

After placing their bets, they headed back to the grandstand. Blair fidgeted uneasily. "So, uh -- you seem kinda tense. Is anything wrong?" 

Squinting across the track at the starting gate, Mack sighed. "It's nothing, really. Or it is, but -- oh, hell. I probably shouldn't tell you about it, but by now Ellison has to know the truth. I found out how him and me are related." 

"You did? I mean, you are? That's awesome!" 

"Not really. Turns out his father -- who's also my father -- kinda slept around a lot. Not something a guy really wants to find out about his old man." 

"Oh. So, you're half brothers?" 

Mack rubbed his nose. "It's worse than that, actually. We're twins. Since there were two of us, they did an even split -- one with one family, one with the other. Kinda like an extramarital divorce settlement." 

"That's, uh . . . not very flattering," Blair offered. 

"Nope. Then both sets of parents lied to us all our lives." 

Blair shook his head. "Not good. And you say Jim knows this too?" 

"He caught up with me when I was leaving his -- my -- our father's house. By now he must have talked to the old man." 

"Oh, man," Blair breathed unhappily. "Shit, I should go home and make sure he's okay." He looked around distractedly. "Soon as this race is over." 

"There they go!" Mack shouted, an instant before the announcer's voice boomed *They're off!* 

Blair squinted. Blair stood on tiptoe. Blair pulled out his glasses and squinted harder. Blair sighed and sank back down, waiting for the horses to get closer so he could see what was going on. 

"Snowdancer's near the front," Mack reported. "They're coming to the turn -- wait, he's making his move. The others are falling back, seems like a slow pace . . . The track isn't _that_ muddy! You know what, Tiger, I think you may have been right." 

Blair looked at the taller man in surprise. Mack wasn't using binoculars. "You can see all that from here?" 

"Just gotta know what silks you're looking for," Mack told him. "Snowdancer's in the lead now -- looks like he's going to take it!" 

Blair tiptoed, balancing against Mack's shoulder, and lost himself in the excitement of the race as the pack came close enough for him to make out details. Snowdancer won by a neck. 

"All right, Einstein!" Mack exclaimed, clapping Blair on the shoulder. "I will not say another bad word about your betting system \-- it just helped pay for my trip here." 

Blair nodded. "And my books for next semester. But that's it for me, man. I gotta get going." 

"But there's another two races left, and you're on a roll!" 

Blair shook his head as they lined up to collect their winnings. "Mack, the trick to making money at this kind of thing is, first, don't do it too often, and second, quit when you're ahead." 

"Come on, Tiger, with your brains and my . . . uh . . . my connections, we're unbeatable!" 

"And the third secret is, don't let winning go to your head. Sorry, Mack, I really do have to go. Don't bet too much on the last couple races." Blair patted his friend on the shoulder and started cutting through the crowd, stuffing bills into his wallet as he went. 

  * * * 



Holli clicked the control to bring up her last slide. "So in conclusion," she said to the sea of faces in the darkened conference room, "although it's tempting to become engrossed in the search for an antidote, even in the case of serial poisonings there is rarely enough time. The most useful role of a forensics department is in narrowing down the search for the people who synthesized the poison in the first place. It's possible that the poisoners may already have an antidote on hand, and the most efficient way to help the victims or to prevent more poisonings from taking place is to find the culprits as soon as possible. Thank you for listening. Are there any questions?" 

She fielded several questions -- two simple ones and a third she couldn't answer. She handled it by saying, "That isn't really in my field of experience, but you might want to check the research of. . ." and tossing out a couple of references that mercifully popped into her brain. The last questioner really just wanted to relate some anecdote about his own experience, and Holli stifled him as politely as she could with excuses about the time limitations. 

As she stepped away from the podium and headed for the back to collect her slides, a familiar figure loomed up. She hesitated, unsure which of them it was in the dim light. 

"Have you seen Wolfe?" he asked, effectively resolving her uncertainty. 

"Ah, no, not today. Meetings aren't really his style," Holli explained. 

"Do you know where he is?" 

"No . . . why, do you need him for your case?" 

"No." Jim's head swivelled around the room. "It's personal." 

"Oh. Oh!" She realized what he must be talking about. 

Jim frowned at her. "He told you?" 

"Well . . . he told me some of it. He wasn't sure. I take it he found out --?" Holli broke off as a conference attendee jostled past them. "Look, it's too crowded here. Why don't we talk up in my room?" 

Jim nodded curtly. 

"I'll just, ah, get my slides . . ." Holli retrieved her materials and led the way up to the nineteenth floor. Jim was silent throughout the short walk, and on the elevator she watched his jaw muscle jumping in a way she had only seen once or twice with Mack. 

Once in her room, Holli headed for the chairs by the window. Jim was too restless to sit, his anger building visibly now that they were out of public view. "What did Wolfe tell you?" he growled. 

Holli sat stiffly. "He told me he was trying to track down his real father. That was what brought him to Cascade. He'd just gotten a strong lead on a man named Ellison -- and then we met you." 

"So you lied to me?" Jim demanded. 

"What?" 

"Last night, before dinner. You said something to Wolfe about not letting me know --" 

"You heard that? No, wait -- hear me out. Of course we didn't want to throw it in your face! Especially if there was a chance it might not be true. Or that it might be . . . upsetting." 

"So that's why Wolfe made my dad so mad he almost had a coronary?" 

Holli sank back against the chair. "Oh, no. It didn't go well, then?" 

"Well?!" Jim barked. "Thanks to Wolfe, I just found out that my mother wasn't really my mother, because she was sterile. And my brother is really my half-brother. And another kid who I thought was just a friend \-- he's another half-brother, except he's dead now and I never even knew the truth while he was alive!" 

"Oh, dear," was the best Holli could manage. 

Jim paced the length of the room, his words running over each other. "My mother -- she left us. She never wanted anything to do with my brother and me, she complained anytime we had to stay with her. I always wondered why she didn't love us, I thought maybe it because of my s-- that there was something wrong with me. And all the time it was because we weren't even her kids, we were just . . . just _tokens_ to keep her tied to a man she hated!" 

Holli just watched the anger pouring out of him, hoping the catharsis would do some good. 

"And my Dad was some kind of, of Don Juan who went around impregnating practically every woman he met! Not to mention he's a liar and a coward who never acknowledged one of his sons, and let himself be blackmailed into giving up another. 

"There's only one of my relatives I ever got along with, and that's a cousin on my mother's side." Jim laughed mirthlessly. "So it turns out he isn't even my relative at all. And your friend Mr. Unscrupulous Wolfe _is_! He's my identical fucking twin!" 

"Okay, now wait a minute," Holli said firmly. "This is my friend you're talking about. I know he has his flaws, but he never planned to overturn your life this way. Is it really him you're angry at, or is it your father?" 

"Both of them," Jim returned harshly. "You know he was trying to get Dad to pay him hush money? That's blackmail!" 

"No way." She shook her head positively. "Mack would never do that." 

"He needs money --" 

"Yes, his debts are enormous. But he wouldn't stoop to extortion -- I know him! Look, he originally found your father by backtracking some money sent to his mother years ago. Probably he just happened to mention that, and your father jumped to the wrong conclusion." She crossed to his side and laid a slender hand on his arm. "Jim, none of this is really Mack's fault. He was looking into his own past -- something anyone would be naturally curious about. When he ran into you and began to suspect you might be involved, he tried to keep you out of it. He never set out to destroy your image of your parents. You have good reason to be angry, Jim, but don't take it all out on Mack." 

Jim took a deep breath. "I suppose you think I should be blaming my father." 

"Well, I've never met the man, but it sounds as though he did behave . . . pretty badly," she concluded. "Why blame Mack for that?" 

"I suppose . . . you might have a point." Jim looked at her and his expression softened almost to a smile. "Are you always this loyal to your friends?" 

"Just the ones who deserve it," she said softly. "I've only known Mack a year and a half, but he's a good friend." 

"Just a friend?" His gaze was suddenly piercingly intense. 

"Just a friend," she confirmed, looking down at the carpet. 

"Have you ever considered him as . . . anything more?" 

"I've thought about it." She chuckled sadly. "But he'd probably drain my bank account dry, and then we wouldn't be friends anymore." 

"I'm solvent," Jim offered, leaning closer. His eyes flashed blue fire. 

"And very respectable," she added. 

"And very . . . available . . ." He bent down to press his lips to hers. 

Jim Ellison made love very differently from any man Holli had ever been with. The laser beam of his attention was focused utterly and completely on her, as if nothing else existed in the world for him. There was a hunger in his gaze, a magnetism in his touch, that made something leap and flutter in Holli's chest the way it had when she was fourteen and the cutest upperclassman in the school looked her way at lunch hour. She had spent ten minutes that day trying to figure out if the boy was really looking at her. This time she had no doubt; Jim was trying to devour her with lips and tongue and fingertips. He was trying to breathe her in and absorb her through his skin. And it felt wonderful. 

He ran his hands over every patch of her skin that he could reach, fingers and palms caressing the length of her body once she had pulled off her clothes. He buried his face in her neck, sniffing and licking at the tenderest places until Holli moaned and writhed beneath him. He squeezed her breasts gently, nuzzled the space between them, then suckled at her nipples to make them stand upright. And at every free moment his hands were stroking along her arms, her belly, her thighs, and coming back up to bury themselves in her hair. 

He never said a word, only growling very softly at times as he moved his attentions from one area to another. At one point Holli tried to sit up and push him back so that she could begin her own explorations. Gently but implacably, he gripped her upper arms and pressed her down again, planting kisses along her neck and shoulders. His expression was utterly absorbed, almost to the point of obsession. A thrill halfway between fear and excitement ran along Holli's spine, and she let him have his way. 

Following his lead, she didn't speak either, though her gasps and cries of delight made more noise than anything he did. She felt certain that if she spoke, said his name, he would come back to his senses and let her take control. At least, she thought he would. But she played along, enjoying the strange, wordless passion between them. 

And when he kissed his way down her stomach, tasting her skin at intervals along the way, somehow it was the most erotic thing. He shouldered between her legs, spread her folds open, and studied her with that intent stare of his. Then he bent down to sniff and taste, his tongue flicking lightly at first and progressing to long sweeping licks. Frustratingly, he didn't pay much attention to her clitoris, concentrating instead on lapping up her juices. 

Always before, when a man tongued her, Holli had known that he was only doing it for her pleasure. Often enough her partners were happy and eager to please her, but they never really seemed to enjoy themselves. Jim's ravenous consumption of her sex was wholly selfish and incredibly exciting. 

His stubble rasped against her thighs as he delved into her center, and she parted her legs further, lifting them up near his ears. She arched her back to bring her clitoris closer to that pulsating tongue. 

Jim raised his head, looking up at her. For a moment, she saw sanity and recognition return to his eyes, making her all the more aware just how far gone he had been. Then his eyelashes swept down and he lowered his mouth again, manipulating her with skilled tongue and lips. 

A fierce, familiar trembling swept over her. She wanted to tell him to stop, to come inside her now, before it was too late. She wanted them to be together at the climax. But the pleasure was too great and the wall of silence too strong. Heat began to gather at her core, centering down around the small nub that Jim was agitating. She felt huge, as if her pelvis, her sex, her pleasure were widening to encompass the entire room. At the same time that point of fire was tightening and peaking within her, then flaring rapidly outward like a shockwave, drawing all her muscles taut for one exquisite, perfect moment. 

Jim licked her slowly and soothingly while she took panted for breath. He stroked her folds, massaged her mound, petted her thighs as he pulled slowly away. He came up the bed to lie alongside her, hands caressing constantly. 

Still shaking with the aftermath, Holli laid a hand alongside his face. "You didn't have to do that," she murmured. Words felt odd in her mouth. "Let me have all the fun, I mean." 

Jim just grinned at her, wiping his moist chin with one hand. 

"Why don't you get those pants off?" she suggested. "Uh -- do you have anything?" 

"Not . . . here," Jim said, his voice sounding as unused as hers. 

"Oh, is that why --? Well, you should have said!" She rolled away and padded off to the bathroom. She would have sworn she could feel the heat of his gaze on her backside, and she swung her hips just a little extra to keep him interested. 

She came back with a foil packet to find Jim still standing by the bed, though he had progressed as far as his boxers. He seemed a little hesitant as she stalked across the bed, wrapped an arm around his neck, and pulled him into a kiss, tasting herself in his mouth. Kneeling on the disordered sheets, she was just a bit taller than he was. He raised a hand automatically to her breast. 

Sinking down onto her heels, Holli reached behind him and palmed the muscular buttocks through the silk boxers. The luxurious feel of the material raised her brows a bit and she shot an astonished grin at Jim. "Let's see what's in here, shall we?" she suggested, slipping a hand past the waistband. 

Jim still seemed a little uncertain, but his head fell back as she found the swollen shaft, and an involuntary groan left his lips. Perhaps he just had trouble getting into sex if he wasn't in control, Holli thought . . . or perhaps his total absorption earlier had shaken him more than her. She smiled wryly; Jim Ellison was certainly an all-or-nothing kind of guy. 

Jim's neck arched further as she moved her hand down to enfold his sac. Unable to resist, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his adam's apple, feeling it bob up and down as he swallowed. She licked around his stubbled neck up to the soft skin below his ear, pulling her hand free and bracing against his shoulder for balance. Her hands traced the twitching muscles of his chest and arms. He was built very much like Mack -- no, she was not going to think about that. But the power in those bulges of flesh, all tamed to her touch, had a definite appeal. 

Sitting back again to keep her balance, she eased his boxers down and freed his erection. It was lovely -- not too thick or intimidating, slightly reddened by the increased bloodflow, the glans gleaming slickly with pre-ejaculate. It had a slight curve to the right, a charming quirk. 

She would have enjoyed the chance to play with him for a while with her hands or mouth, but Jim caught his breath at the first touch and bore her back down onto the bed. They fumbled together with the condom, laughing until Holli ceded control to Jim. Then they were kissing, grappling, rolling on the bed as Jim reached down and slipped himself inside her. 

It was slow, powerful, delightful. Jim was just the right size to feel good without making her sore, and he had the trick some men never seemed to grasp, of rubbing her clitoris gently with one finger as his hips thrust back and forth. Holli shifted to wrap her legs around his waist, feeling him reach deep inside her. Another orgasm was building within her -- the best kind, deep and muscular and satisfying. Jim's arms tightened, curling under her shoulders, and he buried his face in her hair as his movements quickened. Holli gasped and moaned and strained against him, seeking that perfect moment again. As she reached it Jim groaned deeply and thrust hard once, twice -- three times, holding still within her. 

Their breathing slowed and fell into synch. Jim gradually took more of his weight onto his arms as she felt him soften inside her. At last, regretfully, he pulled out and rolled to spoon up behind her, both arms twining around her chest. 

Sex never made Holli feel sleepy; she generally felt either energized or simply hungry. But she always enjoyed seeing the lassitude and vulnerability that sex could bring to a strong man, and it was lovely being wrapped in Jim's arms, so she made an effort to lie still and soak in the pleasure. Eventually she dozed off, and when she woke, Jim was in the shower. 

Stomach growling, Holli climbed out of bed to check the room service menu. She knocked on the bathroom door when the water turned off. "Hey Jim, you want a sandwich?" 

There was a pause. "I could go for that," emerged at last. 

"Ham, roast beef, grilled chicken, or BLT?" 

"Chicken." 

"What do you want on it?" 

"Lettuce and tomato. No onions, pickles, or mustard." 

"Right," she said, heading for the phone. Wistfully she considered her own preference of roast beef with onions, pickles, and lots of mustard \-- then she ordered a chicken sandwich and a BLT for herself. If they were going to do any more kissing, she had to be considerate. 

Jim emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist, sniffing curiously at the empty bottle of complimentary hotel shampoo. Room service knocked at the door and Jim tossed the bottle in the trash, hastily pulling on his boxers. Holli drew a robe from the closet and went to answer the door. 

"Are you staying?" Holli asked once the first few bites of food had begun to placate her stomach. 

"Hmm?" Jim's eyebrows lifted above his own sandwich. 

"Are you staying for the rest of the night?" 

Jim set the sandwich down and wiped his mouth. "What would you like?" 

Holli considered. It was playing with fire, she knew, but -- "I'd enjoy the company," she admitted. "I'm kind of a restless sleeper, though." 

Jim smiled. "I'll just have to hold you down, then." 

Midnight snack finished, the two curled up warmly in the bed. 

  * * * 



Blair was sitting at the kitchen table, staring despondently at his half-eaten toast, when a key turned in the lock and Jim slammed unexpectedly into the loft. 

Blair straightened. "Jim!" 

"Hey, Chief." Jim tossed his keys in the basket and wandered into the kitchen, sniffing the air. "Any breakfast left?" 

"I was just about to scramble some eggs." 

"That's great, if you can make it quick. I just stopped by for clean clothes." Jim thumped up to his bedroom while Blair dug hastily in the refrigerator for what he needed. 

When Jim trotted back down the stairs, Blair was at the stove waiting for the skillet to heat. 

"So where were you last night, man?" 

"Out." 

"I was, um, a little worried." 

"Why?" Jim passed a hand through the air over the skillet. "It's ready." He reached into the refrigerator for some juice and drank it from the jug. 

Blair poured his mixture of eggs, milk and herbs onto the hot surface. "I, uh, saw Mack Wolfe yesterday. He told me what happened." 

The jug slammed down onto the counter. "That prying son of a bitch!" Jim snarled. 

Blair gulped. "I kinda gathered you weren't too happy about it." 

"No," said Jim shortly. 

"And then when you didn't come home -- I got worried." 

"I was mad, Sandburg, not careless. The reason I didn't come home last night was because I met someone." 

"Oh." Blair scraped and turned and chopped the eggs fiercely. "Someone nice, I take it?" 

Jim pushed the juice back into the refrigerator and pushed the door closed with unnecessary force. "Yes, it was a woman. Yes, we spent the night together. Is that enough for you, or do you want the documentary version?" 

"Sorry, man. Didn't mean to pry. Gimme your plate." 

Jim relented. "Look, Chief, this whole thing still has me on edge. But it's Wolfe I'm mad at, not you." He carried his eggs to the table and stole the remaining slice of toast from Blair's plate. 

"Well, you probably don't want to hear this, but . . . there's a message on the machine. From your father." 

Jim slammed his fork onto the table, walked across the room to the answering machine, and pressed the Erase button. Then he returned to his breakfast. 

"Guess that means you don't want to talk about it?" Blair said tentatively. 

"No, I don't want to talk about it!" Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I did all the venting I needed last night, with -- my friend. It's probably just as well I ran into her. I didn't do anything stupid, so you have nothing to worry about. I'll start getting over this as soon as everyone starts *leaving me alone.* Got that?" 

"Loud and clear, man." Blair carried his own crumb-filled plate to the sink. 

Jim munched determinedly on his eggs for a minute. "You're at the U today, right?" 

"Until three. What will you be doing?" 

"Talking to the FDA about that sweetener thing. Checking up on Shoemacher's and Barrett's backgrounds. Seeing if I can find a likely place for them to hold Gearhardt, and trying to get a warrant if I have to." 

"You will take backup if you go after them?" 

Jim sighed. "Yes, Chief, I'll be careful." 

"Great. Just, uh . . . watch your back, okay?" Blair padded into the bathroom. When he emerged from the shower, Jim was gone. 

  * * * 



Someone was knocking on the door. Mack rolled over and groaned. 5:30, said the clock. It was a sign of old age, wasn't it, when a man started needing afternoon naps? 

"Awright, awright, I'm comin'" he called out at another series of knocks. At least he was still dressed, having collapsed face-down on the bed after a strenuous day of doing essentially nothing. 

Zipping up his fly, Mack squinted through the peep-hole and smiled as he saw the only good reason for him to stay in Cascade. He opened the door. "Hey, Tiger. Where you been all day? I was wondering if I'd see you again at all." 

Blair breezed into the room. "Oh, I had classes this morning, and then a meeting with my adviser, and then office hours, and then I was at the station with Jim." He took in Mack's rumpled appearance. "Did I just wake you up?" 

Mack scrubbed a hand over over his face. "Yeah, but I'm not crazy about this nap business anyway. Can't wait until I get my energy back." He shrugged. "Anyhow, if I'd slept any later, I'd have missed dinner, right?" 

Blair grinned. "Exactly. Listen, man, I'm sorry I had to run out on you like that yesterday. I thought maybe I could make it up to you, buy you dinner?" 

Mack hesitated. "I should insist on paying my own way, but I'm not as flush as I ought to be." 

"What happened to the money you won yesterday?" 

"Well, it seems the Sandburg system doesn't work so good for me." 

"What, you lost that much on the last two races yesterday?" 

"No, I went back today." Mack shrugged sheepishly. "I had nothing better to do, and I had to get out of the hotel." 

"Why?" 

"To stay out of your partner's way. If he's still as pissed as he was yesterday, I don't want to run into him." 

Blair grimaced. "Uh, yeah. He is still kinda grumpy. It's not just you, though -- the case isn't going too well." 

"No?" Mack ran a comb over his hair. "What happened? I take it this is that kidnapping case?" 

"Well, we've got our main suspects, right -- the guy you ID'ed as the driver, and also probably the president of the company he and the kidnap victim work for. But we can't get a real handle on either of them, and we can't figure out where they might be holding the victim. Then when Jim went to question the company president again today, he couldn't find him. Everybody has a different story about where he went. There's officers watching the guy's house, but we can't get an actual arrest warrant. The DA is not impressed with the evidence we have so far, and Judge McAvoy won't even give us search warrants to collect _more_ evidence." 

"So you're saying Ellison is seriously frustrated, as well as mad at me." 

"Yeah. And his father. So staying out of his way was probably a good idea -- but couldn't you think of anywhere better than the track?" 

"Hey, at least I managed to leave before I lost too much. That ain't so easy for a guy like me, you know! But I made some resolutions after I survived this poison thing, and so far, I'm sticking to 'em. But today \-- I just didn't know where else to go. My tour guide was busy . . ." he grinned down at Blair ". . . my business here is done, and I don't exactly want to run into either Ellison again. If I could have changed my return flight reservations without paying a penalty, I'd be back in Hawaii by now." 

Blair sighed. "I guess I should be glad you're still here at all, then." 

"Exactly." Mack started for the door, snapped his fingers and went back to pull a light windbreaker out of the pile of clothes on the bed. "So now you can show me around town. What's for dinner? How about that Ethiopian place you mentioned?" 

"Well . . . actually, I was thinking dim sum." 

"Come on, I can get dim sum any day of the week!" 

They left the hotel, bickering happily. 

  * * * 



Blair was roused by a ringing sound and the heaving of the bed as Mack reached for the room's phone. 

"Shit." Mack slammed the receiver down. "Wake up, Tiger. Your backpack is ringing." 

"Hmmm?" Groggily Blair realized that the musical chirp was actually his own cell phone. "Oh, right." He scrabbled for the backpack, trying to bring himself to full alertness. It had to be Jim on the other end; no one else ever called his cell. "Hello?" 

"Sandburg, where are you? I tried the university." 

"Uh, I thought I'd go out for a late dinner," Blair improvised. 

"Uh-oh." 

"What's wrong?" 

"You just ate, then?" 

It sounded like Jim thought that was a bad thing. "Uh, no," Blair denied. "Actually I haven't even ordered yet. Why, what's up?" 

"Well, we just found a body, and I could really use your help. But it's an ugly one, Chief -- you might not want to get involved." 

"No man, that's all right. I can deal. Where are you?" 

"Shingle Beach, on the south side. You know where that is?" 

"Shingle Beach? Yeah, I've been there. I can make it in fifteen -- no, better make that twenty minutes." 

"Thanks, Chief." 

"No problem. Um, you said ugly -- how ugly? Is there a lot of blood?" 

"No, the body was cut up. We haven't found all the pieces yet. That's where I thought you could help me." 

"Oh." Blair swallowed hard. "Okay, thanks for the warning." 

"Sure." Jim's voice faded a little. "Sorry, Holli, what was that? Okay, I'll be with you in a sec." The voice strengthened again as Jim returned the phone to his mouth. "All right Sandburg, I'll expect you in twenty." And he hung up. 

Blair's eyebrows went up. 

"What is it?" Mack asked from the other side of the bed. 

Blair shook his head sharply to clear out the cobwebs. "Duty calls. Jim and Dr. Holliday are checking out a body." 

Mack rolled up on one elbow. "What's Holli doing there?" 

The reason clicked suddenly for Blair. Holli must have been with Jim when he got the call. They had been together at this hour of the evening. And Jim had been out all last night . . . better not to mention that to Mack. "Uh, I don't know -- curious, I guess. Look man, I gotta run. Oh hell, I need to shower real quick, too." 

"I thought you were in a hurry." 

"Yeah, well -- I just like to be clean, you know?" 

"Never found that it makes much difference, dealing with dead bodies," Mack said. "But be my guest." 

"Thanks, man." Blair grabbed up his scattered clothes and hurried into the bathroom. 

  * * * 



Squad cars, unmarked cars, Jim's truck and the morgue van were all pulled up at the edge of the beach. Blair coaxed his sputtering Volvo to join their ranks and clipped on his observer's badge as he headed for the popping flashbulbs. 

Jim saw Blair first and came out to meet him as he ducked under the yellow perimeter tape. 

"Hi Jim," said Blair uneasily, not looking too closely at the scene. "What do we got?" 

"Some kids throwing a frisbee for their dog found the first pieces of the body," Jim said, gesturing where the forensics team was taking their pictures. "At least, we think it's just one body." 

"Gearhardt?" 

Jim shrugged. "We don't have enough pieces yet for an identification. We need to find a hand, or maybe the head. I've been up and down the beach trying to spot any other pieces that washed up, but I haven't had much luck." 

"Forget sight, man. Use smell. How old is the body?" 

"Just over a day, but I can definitely smell it." Jim squinted off into the distance. "Or at least I could when I got here. My sense of smell sort of shut down once I got a good whiff of it, though." 

"Okay. Let me think here." Blair looked around and saw Dr. Holliday standing back a little, watching the team at work. "Hi, Holli," he said, walking over to her side. 

She smiled at him. "Blair. Nice to see you. Observing forensics now?" She waved at the technicians hard at work. 

"Um, not exactly. Listen, I was wondering -- do you have any cosmetics in your purse?" 

"Just some lipstick and face powder. Why?" 

"Oh, that's perfect. Could I borrow the face powder? I promise I won't mess it up or anything." 

She reached into her purse. "But what do you want it for?" 

"It's lightly perfumed, right?" Blair snapped open the compact she handed him and sniffed. "Great. I just need a little olfactory distraction, that's all. Thanks!" He hurried back to Jim's side. 

"What are you up to, Sandburg?" 

"We have to wake up your sense of smell, man." Blair held the open compact up before Jim. "Breathe steadily through your nose, now. Just try to relax and open up. Can you smell the makeup?" 

"Of course I can smell it! It's right in my face." 

"Okay, I'm going to move it away slowly. I want you to turn up the dial on your sense of smell so you can still detect it, but it's not overpowering or anything." Blair gradually backed up until he was standing about ten feet from Jim. "Got it?" 

"I got it." 

"Okay, keep the dial right there." Blair snapped the compact closed and stepped up beside his partner. "Filter through the other scents you can pick up. Salt water, seaweed, fish . . ." he prompted. 

"Exhaust, cologne, cigarette smoke, latex," Jim filled in. 

"Good. Just let all those normal scents wash into the background. You know what you're looking for --" 

Jim wrinkled his nose in distaste. 

"Don't focus in too closely. Just keep it there at the boundary of where you can sense it. Okay? Now, we're going to walk along the beach, and if that smell gets stronger, all you have to do is figure out where it's coming from. Never let it get too strong." 

"Hang on a second, Chief." Jim jogged over to the car holding most of the forensics equipment. 

Blair shrugged and took the compact back to Dr. Holliday. "Thanks, that helped. Just got a little overwhelmed there, that's all." 

Jim reappeared, handing Blair a flashlight and a bundle of narrow wooden stakes. 

"What's this for -- we hunting vampires?" 

"They're markers." Jim flashed a roll of yellow tape at his partner, then pulled on a pair of latex gloves. "Okay partner, let's get to it." 

They strolled slowly along the beach near the high-water mark. The bright moon, the distant lights of ships, and the soft lap of the water over the pebbles all seemed romantic and relaxing. But every once in a while Jim would bend down to brush aside some seaweed, and then a stake would be driven into the sand with tape fluttering from its tip to mark another gory discovery. 

"I can't believe I missed all these when I came by here earlier," Jim grumbled as he ripped off another strip of tape and tied it to the wood. 

"It's nighttime, man. Smell's gotta be more effective than sight." 

"I just couldn't make it work before." 

"Well, you got the hang of it now." Blair squinted at a spine of rock across their path and clicked the flashlight on so he could see it better. "Think we should climb over and check the other side?" 

Jim glanced out at the water. "Yeah, we'd better. The current here runs up the beach." He pointed back the way they had come. "Some of the heavier chunks might have washed ashore before they reached these rocks." 

Blair swallowed bile as he climbed after his partner. "Thanks _so_ much for that image, man. Like I really need to think about that." 

They reached the other side of the narrow hump in under a minute. As Jim stepped down onto the beach again, he raised his head and drew a deep breath. A moment later he was doubled over, clutching at the rock with one hand and his head with the other. 

Blair hurried to his partner's side. "Jim? Jim, what is it?" 

"Hurts," Jim gasped. "Burns . . ." 

Blair reached out and pinched Jim's nose shut. "Breathe through your mouth. Just dial it down. You'll be okay. Can you tell me what you sensed?" 

"Acid," Jim said, rubbing at his forehead. "God, I can feel it burning right up into my brain!" 

Blair tested the air and couldn't detect anything. "It's not strong enough to bother me," he said. "Is your throat burning?" 

"No, I've got it dialed down now. It was just, for a moment there --" He shook his head slightly. "You cad let go of by doze dow, Sadburg." 

Blair pulled away. "Sorry, man. Maybe we better go back. With your sensitivity . . ." 

"No, I'm fine. It just caught me by surprise, that's all. I think it was sulfuric acid." Jim looked down the beach. "Coming from that direction. There's something . . . oh hell." He began to jog across the coarse grey sand. 

"What is it?" Blair asked, following. "Eugh! Oh god, that's really gross." He looked away. 

Jim gazed down at the semi-fleshed skull at their feet. "I guess they didn't want us to identify him." 

"So they dipped his head in acid?" Blair gagged. 

"Looks like it. Not even much hair left." He nudged the object with his toe, and it rolled over, gaping obscenely. "Teeth have been knocked out, too." 

"Oh, gross." 

"Put down a marker, Chief. I think I see a hand further along." Jim squinted. "Looks like it got the acid treatment too." 

"So no fingerprints?" 

"No fingerprints. Here, give me a couple of those stakes, and then we can go back and let the others know what we found." 

  * * * 



When the forensics team had finished taking pictures and recording positions, Holli was at last free to examine their finds more closely. She had just crouched down with a flashlight and a pair of forceps when a voice spoke behind her. 

"Hey, Doc, whatcha got?" 

"Mack!" She straightened indignantly, then froze, looking at him in doubt. 

"Yep, it's me," Mack confirmed, sucking on a stick of licorice. 

"What are you doing here?" 

"A little bird told me you were out here doing some free-lancing, so I stopped by," the lieutenant said mildly. 

"How did you get past the cordon?" 

"I walked. Nobody even asked to see my badge." 

"They thought you were Jim Ellison! He's here, you know. And he's still angry at you." 

Mack shrugged. "I'm not afraid of him. Besides, we probably have to talk sometime. I was more worried about you." 

"Why would you be worried? This is my job!" 

"Not in Cascade it isn't. I mean, come on, Doc. This was how you got lured into staying in Honolulu -- you started a little investigating during your vacation, and next thing you know you have a job offer. I just don't want to lose you back to the mainland, that's all." 

Holli glared. "I'm flattered by your concern, Lieutenant. But Cascade has a perfectly good medical examiner who isn't thinking of moving or retiring as far as I know." 

"So why are you here?" 

"I was with Jim when he got the call --" 

"Oh, were you," Mack commented darkly. 

"-- and he mentioned that their M.E. is out of town and the deputy isn't very experienced with complicated cases like this. It's pretty messy," she added, gesturing at the chunk of flesh behind her. 

"So what have you found out?" 

"Not much, so far." She turned back to the evidence. "This is the largest piece they've found, a section of thigh. It appears to be from a tall, heavyset man -- maybe 250 pounds." 

Mack crouched down across from her. "You want me to hold that light for you?" 

"Here, thanks." Holli probed delicately at the cylinder of flesh, studying the ends where the bones protruded. "It looks like he was cut up with a power tool, possibly a small chainsaw. Not something designed specifically to cut flesh. See how messy the cuts are?" 

"So the killer could have been anyone except a butcher," Mack concluded. 

"Oh, I think we can tell a little more than that. Look at the opening of the femoral artery here." 

Mack squinted. "I thought it was supposed to be bigger than that," he said doubtfully. 

"It _should_ be bigger. I'll need a proper examination to be sure, but it looks like very little seawater got inside. The artery was already collapsed before the leg was cut off." 

"So that means . . ." 

"The body was cut up post-mortem, and whatever the cause of death was, it involved major blood loss." 

"So it couldn't have been, say, cyanide?" Suddenly the voice was behind her, although Mack hadn't moved. 

Holli twisted around in confusion to find Jim approaching up the beach with Blair a few paces behind. "Oh!" she said in surprise. "No, it wasn't cyanide. That produces a very characteristic cherry-red color to the skin. It couldn't have been the immediate cause of death here." She got to her feet. "Why, do you think this is involved somehow with the sweetener case?" 

"Well, we believe the sweetener is involved with the kidnapping, and we thought the kidnapping might be connected to this." 

"From what Holli says, this guy was too big to be your kidnap victim," Mack put in. 

Jim didn't acknowledge Mack's presence. 

"What about one of the kidnappers?" Blair spoke up. 

Mack shrugged. "Could be, I guess. But we really need to see the face, don't we?" 

"It won't help. The whole head was dipped in acid." Blair grimaced theatrically. 

"I don't know, Holli can find out a lot from just a skull. We had this one case --" 

Blair interrupted as an idea struck him. "Oh, hey, Jim! Acid -- chemicals \-- that Puget company?" 

Jim shrugged in an unconscious echo of Mack's earlier gesture. "Could be, Chief, but sulfuric acid isn't exactly uncommon." 

"Let's see." Blair tried to orient himself. "The plant is located . . . up the coast. Wrong direction, with the currents. Does Shoemacher or Barrett own a boat?" 

"Shoemacher does," Jim replied. "But we still don't know for sure that this case is connected at all." 

Holli snapped off her latex gloves. "Well, even if you can't identify the victim, you may be able to get some more information about the killers. If it's been in the water for less than a day, there's a good chance of picking up some latent fingerprints from the skin. Whoever cut up this thigh had to grip it pretty tightly. If they weren't wearing gloves . . ." 

"If," Jim repeated pessimistically. "Look, I marked some other body parts further down the beach. The forensics team will probably be busy here for a while. If you could take this big piece and some of the others that have already been recorded, and run those tests on them, maybe we can get a warrant before the judge goes to bed." 

"I can do that," Holli promised. 

"Great. Come on, Chief, let's look into that boat thing." Jim headed back towards his truck, and Blair lingered for a moment to wave at Mack before following. 

They had just crossed the narrow grass border between the pebbly beach and the parking area when Jim paused in mid-step, sniffing the air. 

"What is it, man? You didn't like find another piece, did you?" 

"No, it's something else. Did you change shampoos?" 

"Uh . . ." 

"It smells familiar somehow." He gave Blair a sharp look. "What's wrong?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Your heartrate just went through the roof." Jim grinned suddenly. "Oh, I get it. You went out for a `late dinner,' huh? That's why your hair is wet even though it's not raining tonight." 

"You know, it really sucks sometimes hanging around with a Sentinel. A guy can't get any privacy!" 

Jim lifted his hands defensively. "Sorry. You want privacy, fine. None of my business if your new girlfriend is staying at the Ambassador." He frowned. "As long as it isn't Holli." 

"No, it's not Holli," Blair grumbled. 

"Great. Well, whoever it is, I hope you're having fun . . ." Jim started towards the truck, then pulled up again. 

"Jim? Yo Jim, can you hear me?" Blair sighed. "Just focus on my voice, man, and come back to me --" 

Without warning, Jim spun around and headed back to the beach. "Wolfe!" he roared. 

"Oh shit," Blair breathed, and ran after him. 

Jim caught up with Mack at the far end of the line of official cars. He grabbed the man's light cotton shirt in both hands. "What the hell have you been doing with my partner?" he snarled. 

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mack began, lifting his hands placatingly. 

Jim gave the shirt he was clutching a sharp shake. "Don't lie to me! I can smell him all over you!" 

Holli placed her hands over the irate detective's. "Jim, let him go." 

Both men ignored her. "What did you do to him?" Jim repeated. 

"Nothing he didn't enjoy," Mack said defiantly. "Nothing illegal either, in most states. The details are none of your business." 

"You fucking bastard!" Jim spat. 

"Same to you, bro," Mack returned. 

Jim released one handful of shirt and swung. Mack blocked him. Holli stepped back as the two began fighting in earnest, kicking and punching in lightning-fast blurs. Mack was losing ground quickly. 

Heedless of the flying fists, Blair got between the two men. "Jim. Jim!" He turned his back on Mack, trying to calm Jim and counting on the Sentinel's unwillingness to hurt him. "Jim, cut it out!" He grunted as a half-pulled punch hit his shoulder from behind, and Jim's rage rose visibly. 

Blair hung on the Sentinel's arms. "Holli, get him out of here!" he yelled. "Jim, calm down. Simon's on his way -- you don't want to make a scene!" 

Jim wrenched his arm free, preparing to go after Mack again. 

Blair decided he had to play dirty. "Ow!" he yelped, bending over the hand Jim had just pulled away from. 

Jim stopped in his tracks. "Are you all right?" 

"Sure man," Blair gasped realistically. "It's just my thumb . . ." From the corner of his eye, he saw Holli drawing Mack away. 

"Let me see," Jim insisted. 

"I'm fine, Jim. It just got twisted a little. You don't know your own strength." 

"Ellison!" came a familiar roar from the parking area. 

"Oh, no," Blair groaned. "You better make this look good, man." 

"What the hell is going on here?" Simon demanded as he came up to them. 

Jim stood stiffly. "Nothing, sir. Just a little misunderstanding." 

"I come up here to find one of my detectives brawling with another police officer, and you call that a little misunderstanding?" He turned his head. "Wolfe, get over here! What are you doing at my crime scene anyway?" 

Mack's eyes flickered. "Well, Holli offered to help with the forensics since your ME's out of town --" 

"All right, never mind that. Do you want to press charges?" 

"Press charges?" Mack dropped the hand cradling his jaw. "You better believe I --" He caught sight of Blair's pleading expression and paused "-- won't. Uh, Ellison was just showing me some moves and I zigged when I should have zagged, that's all." 

Blair brightened at once. Holli looked at her friend incredulously. Jim remained expressionless. 

Simon glared at all of them. "Well it sure as hell looked like more than that to me! Blair, who started it?" 

"Uh . . . couldn't tell, sir. It's dark you know, and they do look like each other." 

Simon looked incredulously from Jim's dark green turtleneck to Mack's pale cotton shirt and suspenders. "Dr. Holliday. I'm sure _you_ can tell me what's really going on." 

Holli hesitated. "I'm sorry, Captain. This is a personal matter between Mack and Jim. If they don't want to bring your authority into it, I . . . can't interfere with that decision." 

"Fine," Simon snapped. "But your captain will be hearing about this, Wolfe -- count on it. You two can go, if you don't have anything helpful to offer." He turned to Jim. "I don't need Wolfe's cooperation to suspend you, you know that. After what I just saw, I should pull you off of this case." 

"No!" Blair protested. "Simon, we're making progress on the case. We might even be able to find the kidnappers before it's too late for the guy they grabbed! This here was just a misun -- umm. I'll get it straightened out, I promise." 

Simon turned the full force of his gaze on Blair, who gulped. Jim stood motionless and silent throughout. 

"All right," Simon said at last. "But this is your only warning, Ellison. One report of further trouble between you and Wolfe -- or anyone else for that matter -- and you're off the streets. Got that?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Then get back to work and stay out of trouble." 

  * * * 



Holli towed Mack over to the morgue van and made him sit on the tailgate while she rummaged through the supplies, pulling out gloves and alcohol swabs. 

"You know, I could've taken him," Mack claimed, "if that poison hadn't been slowing me down." 

"Riiight," she drawled. "I always knew you had a lot of nerve, Mack, but I never realized how much until tonight. Coming between Jim and his partner -- that was just plain dumb." 

"Hey, if Ellison doesn't have enough sense to give Blair what he wants, I'm not going to object when I'm asked to stand in." Mack hissed as she swabbed at his cut face. "Do you have to use that stinging stuff?" 

"Yes. Does this hurt?" She probed at his jaw. 

"Of course it hurts, I just got punched there! It's not broken, so you can just leave it alone." 

"Fine. What about your ribs?" She pulled down one of his suspender straps to press her fingers against his chest. 

"They're okay, I rode the kick pretty good." 

She shook her head. "I just hope it was worth it." 

"Look, Blair wanted me --" 

"Or somebody who looks like you," she pointed out. 

"And I wanted company. What's so wrong with having a little fun?" 

She stripped off her gloves. "If you wanted company, why not come to me? What does Blair Sandburg have that I don't?" 

Mack's eyebrows flew up. 

"*Don't* say it!" Holli warned. 

Mack coughed. "Well, aside from that . . . Blair had free time, and he was willing to spend it with me. You've been busy with your conference and all that stuff." 

Holli sighed. "Look, we'll have to talk about this later. I need to go do some tests on this section of thigh. Can I meet you back at the hotel?" 

"Whatever you say, Doc. You know my room number." Mack pulled his suspenders back up and turned away, not meeting her eyes. 

  * * * 



Blair followed Jim to the truck, half-jogging to keep up with his partner's longer strides. He threw one glace towards his Volvo, then decided he could pick it up later. It was more important to stay with Jim. 

"Uh, look, man --" he began as Jim started the car. 

"I don't want to talk about it," Jim growled. 

Blair took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "We're going to have to talk sometime." 

"Not now." The Sentinel's face was wooden, expressionless except for the tight muscle in his jaw. 

"Okay, how about when we get home?" 

"If it's not too late," Jim conceded. 

Since it was already past ten p.m., Jim could easily claim that whatever hour they finished was `too late.' Blair sighed. "Okay. You going to tell me where we're going now?" 

"The marina where Shoemacher's boat is moored." 

Fifteen minutes later, they were standing on the dock, looking over the small pleasure-craft. 

"We don't have a search warrant, do we?" 

"Don't need one just to look," Jim returned. He squinted, walked from one end of the boat to the other, sniffed the air. "They had the body in here. I can smell the sulfuric acid. And there's a few blood smears they didn't manage to clean up." 

"So the cases _are_ connected, just like we thought." 

Jim nodded briefly. "I'll have Simon impound the boat and get an arrest warrant on Shoemacher." He led the way back along the echoing wooden quay. 

"Do we know where Shoemacher is?" 

"No. Still hasn't shown up back at his house. His wife is worried, but insists she doesn't know where he went." 

Blair skipped to keep up with his partner. "What about what's-his- name, umm, Barrett?" 

"We still can't prove he's involved. The Chicago police haven't established whether or not he really is at that meeting he supposedly went to." 

"So what are we going to do?" 

"Give it time, Chief. We may be able to get at Barrett from another angle." Jim picked up his radio and called dispatch, arranging to have the boat impounded. The dispatcher relayed an additional message, and Jim smiled grimly. "There, you see? Holli picked up a blurry partial fingerprint on the body. Could be Barrett's. It might not be enough for a conviction, but it'll get us a warrant." 

Blair fastened his seatbelt as they squealed out of the marina parking lot. "Where to now?" 

"Barrett's place. If the judge is awake, Simon will have the search papers by the time we get there." 

  * * * 



Mack opened his door just a few seconds after the first knock. Holli blinked as she stepped inside. All the clutter she had seen when she stopped by a few days ago was gone. The soft suitcase was in the closet, obviously empty. Some of the clothes were on hangers and the rest, presumably, in drawers. Both beds had been made to military standards. Even the toiletries were confined to a small section of bathroom counter, which was quite a statement considering how Mack liked to primp. 

"I've been waiting for you," Mack said in a strangely subdued tone, walking across the room to gaze out the window. 

She stared at him in puzzlement. "I'm sorry, it took me a while to get those prints. I came as soon as --" 

"Don't worry about that, Doc. So, how's it going with Jim?" 

She tipped her head. "I beg your pardon?" 

"You two are hitching up together, huh?" Mack turned to face her, leaning back against the windowsill. "You know, in the middle of everybody telling me how dumb I was to go out with Ellison's partner, I kinda missed the fact that you were going out with Ellison himself. But it came to me when I got back here -- alone." 

"It doesn't mean anything --" 

He raised his voice to override her words. "`If you want company, why not come to me?'" he mocked. "Isn't that what you said? So I guess the real question is, what's _he_ got that I don't? Well, it can't be his looks. Is it because he's rich?" 

"Mack!" she protested. 

"Naw, it's not the money. He's a cop, you're a doctor -- you don't need his income. But he does come from the right sort of family. Is that it? Because he grew up in a big house with all those upperclass people and things around him, just like you did?" 

"Mack! That's not it at all. He's . . . he's just as attractive as you are, but he takes life more seriously --" 

"Wait, wait a second, Doc. Did you just say you think I'm attractive?" 

She put her hands on her hips. "Oh, come on, Mack. You know damn well you're good-looking -- you use it against every woman you meet!" 

Mack blinked. "Well -- I know a lot of people think I'm attractive, yeah, but you usually look at me more like I climbed outta some sewer somewhere. I figured you went in for guys with more hair." 

Holli put a hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle. Then she forcibly straightened her face. "All right. Let's set this straight. I think you are a great-looking man . . . and I have seen all of you, remember!" 

Mack groaned. "Please, Doc, don't remind me. Besides, I could say the same about you." 

"Only because you walked in when I wasn't expecting it -- that's hardly in the same category as joining a troupe of strippers!" She looked at him more closely. "Mack, are you _blushing_?" 

"I just didn't expect you to be there, Holli. But go on -- you were telling me how fantastic I look?" 

"Well you do, and you know it!" she protested. "But I just think a relationship between the two of us could really . . . complicate things, that's all." 

"Complicate how?" 

"Well, it could get awkward when we're working together. We make a good team, and I don't want to mess that up. But, naturally, when I meet a guy who looks and sounds like you, but he lives a few thousand miles away from where I work, I'm . . . tempted." 

"Sounds like you were a little more than _tempted_ , Doc." 

"Okay, so I gave in! But that still doesn't mean I think it would be a good idea for us to start -- you know." She circled her hands between them suggestively. 

"Why not? I don't see why we couldn't work together if we're also . . ." Mack copied the gesture. 

Holli pressed her lips into a tight smile. "Mack, have you ever managed to remain friends with any woman you've slept with?" 

"Well . . . no. But then I don't really know any women who are my friends. Not like you, anyway." 

"Thank you. I think. But it isn't really the sleeping together that I worry about. It's afterward. After we break up. Then it could get _really_ awkward." 

Mack pursed his lips in puzzlement. "What makes you think we'd break up?" 

"Oh, please!" Holli threw up her hands. "Neither of us exactly has a good track record in that area. Love 'em and leave 'em is practically your motto -- and as for me, nearly every man I've fallen for in the past year has been killed or, or arrested!" She spoke as if it were a laughing matter, but turned away quickly to hide her face. 

Mack took her shoulders from behind, his large hands warming her skin. "That's not going to happen to me, Holli." 

"Actually --" She blinked her eyes hard. "Actually, I believe that. I trust you to be there. And that's just another reason." She turned around in the circle of his arms. "Mack, you have got to be one of the most irresponsible men I've ever met." She pressed a finger to his lips before he could speak. "And yet I trust you. I know you'll always be there. I know you'll never sell me out. I'm just . . . I'm afraid that if we bring sex into it, that will ruin the trust between us. I'll get hurt -- we'll both get hurt -- and that will break that connection we have." 

Mack looked down at her, his expression uncharacteristically sober. At that moment, he looked even more like his twin than usual. "I hear what you're saying, Doc," he said at last. "And you could be right. It's a risk. But don't you think this is what we've been building up to all along? This is what that `connection' between us is all about!" 

"I don't know, Mack . . ." She pulled from his gentle grasp. 

"Look, Doc. You're right about me. I haven't exactly stuck to the straight and narrow all my life. For a cop, I'm pretty damned footloose. And I haven't had much luck with relationships in the past; just ask Miriam or Rebecca if you want to know about all my failings. But ever since Auckland, I've been thinking. I'm getting to that age, you know, where a man realizes that life isn't just about flashy cars and one-night stands." 

She chuckled. "Don't you have that backwards?" 

"Probably. I do most things the wrong way around. But I really think I'm ready to settle down, now. It's not just you; I'm starting to clear my debts, Holli, for the first time in, in . . . well, ever. So, you may think a promise from me is a long shot, but I gotta tell you I'm really serious about this commitment thing. I mean, I think we should start out one step at a time, but there's a lot of potential there between you and me. And, if something goes wrong, if your heart does get broken . . . well, you won't be the only one." 

Holli looked at him through moist eyes. "Mack! That's so . . . romantic!" 

He blinked. "It is? I was just trying to be honest." 

Her watery sniff was beaten out by a laugh. "That's what I mean. For a scam artist like you to be so up-front . . . it has to be just about the sweetest thing I've ever heard." 

"It does? Well, then, whaddya say, Doc?" He brushed at her spiky eyelashes with one finger. "Should we take our chances?" 

She looked up at him. She had always felt so safe, standing close to him like this, feeling the warmth of that large body envelop her. Maybe that sense of security was really a better foundation for a relationship than the thrill of excitement she had known with other men, like Dan Hollingsworth. Like Jim Ellison. Maybe she really could trust Mack, as some part of her had insisted from the beginning. 

Mack began to look anxious, then crestfallen. Sighing, he stepped back a pace. 

Holli twined her arms around his neck and went up on tiptoe. "It's worth a try," she whispered, and kissed him. 

  * * * 



It was nearly one in the morning when the partners got back to the loft, and neither was in a good mood. Barrett's home had turned up nothing promising. He had been away for a few days but hadn't left in any particular hurry, in keeping with his Chicago alibi. There was no sign of any violence in the house or anyone being restrained there, so it wasn't where Gearhardt had been taken. Various papers and  
documents had been taken into custody, but none of them seemed out of the ordinary during a quick leaf-through. 

The only possible lead had been one of several phone numbers written on a pad by the telephone. Most of them had turned out to be perfectly innocent -- a plumber, a doctor's office, a hotel in Chicago \-- but one number had been traced to Dave Whiting, an ex-con with a history of assault charges related to his usual job as a bookie's knee-breaker. Being a large man, Whiting was a possible candidate for the second kidnapper or the body on the beach, or both. By morning, the ME's office would have the man's medical records from prison to look for identifying marks. 

It was another piece of evidence that might tie Barrett and Puget Chemicals to kidnapping and murder, but it still wasn't much. And it didn't tell them where Shoemacher and Barrett were hiding out, or whether Gearhardt was still alive. Jim was frustrated to the point of speaking only in monosyllables during the entire drive home. 

Blair followed his roommate wearily through the door and pulled off his jacket. He started to hang it over Jim's holster on the rack, then realized what he was doing and used a different hook in case Jim needed to get to his gun quickly. Such arrangements had become reflex over the last three years. 

Tired as he was, Blair was determined to get his partner to talk. He had no intention of letting Jim brush him off with an excuse about the long day and the late hour. As soon as the door closed, he drew a deep breath and launched his attack. "Okay, man. I know you're really angry at Mack about this business with your father . . ." 

"That has nothing to do with it," Jim rumbled. 

"Sure it does. You've had it in for him from the moment you set eyes on him, and finding out you're related just made you madder. But it isn't Mack's fault -- don't you see that?" 

"I don't care who the hell he's related to, he's got no business --" Jim cut himself off sharply. 

"What? No business hanging around with me?" 

"Corrupting you," Jim spat. 

"Whoa!" Blair held his hands up. "He didn't do that! Come on, I'm a big boy -- I make my own decisions." 

"You're straight! You always have been." 

"No, Jim," said Blair gently. "I'm bi -- I always have been." 

"That's just an excuse for people who can't make up their minds." 

"Oh, man!" Blair gaped. "I cannot believe you just said that." 

"It's true. Whatever Wolfe said, don't let him confuse you. You like women, Chief! You chase after them twenty-four, seven." 

"Sometimes I like men, too." 

Jim just shook his head. 

"Look, Jim. The point here is that if you have a problem with this, you need to bring it to me instead of trying to smash in my friend's face. I mean, for you to assume Mack started the whole thing -- it's like an insult to me. How do you know _I_ didn't corrupt him?" 

"Because . . ." Jim struggled for words. "Because it's not your fault. He was taking advantage of you, of what you -- because he looks like me!" 

Blair chewed on that for a moment. "Are you saying he traded on his looks to get into bed with me?" 

Jim's eyes closed, two spots of color appearing on his cheekbones. 

"Come on, you can do better than that. Why not accuse me of using _him_ for his face and body!" 

"Sandburg, I really don't want to discuss this." The Sentinel's voice was low, quivering with suppressed tension. "Keep your --" he swallowed "-- perversions to yourself." 

"No, man, let's get it out in the open. If you can't say it, I will. You want to know if me sleeping with Mack means I'm attracted to you. Well, I am. Does that mean I'm going to jump you in the middle of the night? No! I thought you knew me better than that! With Mack it was a mutual thing, and I had other reasons for fucking him besides his looks. And that's all you need to know, because the rest is totally not your business." 

Jim whirled, suddenly and inexplicably furious. He grabbed Blair by the shoulders. "It's my business while you're staying in my home! I don't want you going out with men, Sandburg!" 

Blair staggered under the onslaught of words and hands. "You -- what?" 

"You heard me! If you want to be my partner, stick with women." Jim's grip tightened and he started to shake the smaller man. Blair raised his own hands and pinched the powerful wrists, prying his shoulders free. Jim reached for him again, then pulled away, fists clenching. "God! You're as bad as my old man, sleeping around with anybody who'll have you." 

Blair stared as Jim prowled the loft restlessly. "What the hell are you talking about? I'm nothing like your father." 

"No? The number of women you go out with, I'm surprised you don't have a string of little bastards to support, just like him!" 

"You're talking about the women _I_ sleep with? Isn't that just a little hypocritical, Mr. Never-Date-Them-Twice? Besides, it's not like I'm cheating on anyone!" 

"No, you just lied to me about where you were and who you were with," Jim retorted. 

"That's right, because I figured you would blow a gasket if you found out I was sleeping with a man! And I was right, wasn't I? You totally can't handle the idea of alternative sexuality. Okay, fine. I'm out of here, then." 

Jim's head snapped up. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean that's enough. In fact, it's more than enough -- you've gone too far, Jim." Blair's hands sliced the air expressively. "I mean, house rules about noise and cleanliness -- I can handle that, especially since I know it's a Sentinel thing. But when your rules start crawling into my bed, that is just too much. You have no right to dictate my sex life, man, and if you're going to make that a condition of me living here, I'll have to find somewhere else to stay." He grabbed his jacket off the rack, slung the backpack over his shoulder, and looked around distractedly. "I'll pick up my stuff later, when I have a place." 

"Where will you go tonight?" Jim was quiet now, motionless, seeming smaller than he had a few moments ago. 

"I can stay with some friends." Blair threw his Sentinel a last, hurt look, then opened the door. "Bye." And he walked out. 

"Wait! Sandburg --" Jim leaned through the doorway as if some spell kept him from crossing the threshold. "Are you . . . will -- will you be at the station tomorrow?" 

Blair stopped but didn't turn, closing hot eyes. "I thought you didn't want a gay partner," he retorted bitterly. 

"That's not -- I mean --" Jim gave up on words, but the Guide could feel the desperate stare lasering between his shoulder blades. 

Blair couldn't say no, however angry he was. He knew Jim needed him. But he just wasn't ready to give in yet. "Ask me later," he said curtly, and started down the stairs. 

It was a strange, sinking feeling when he realized that Jim wasn't going to follow, and even more disheartening when he reached ground level only to remember that he had left his car miles away at the beach, and he didn't have enough money for a cab. As Blair looked up and down the street, reviewing his options, it began to rain. 

  * * * 



Mack insisted on `freshening up' before they started anything. He offered Holli the bathroom first, but she had already stopped by her room before coming to see him. So she lay back on the bed and listened to him putter over the sink, smiling to herself. She had been right; Mack did like to primp. But when he came to her, clean and sweet-smelling and very smooth, she had to admit it was worth it. 

Mack perched on the edge of the bed and looked at her earnestly. "Now, since you're a doc, Doc, I'm gonna be honest here. I'm not exactly at my best right now." 

Holli frowned and pressed two fingers against his wrist. "Still tiring easily?" she asked. 

"Yep. Gotta have my afternoon nap, or I'm not good for much." He tilted his head anxiously. "You _did_ say I would get over this, right?" 

"Yes," Holli replied certainly. "The toxin is clearing out of your system \-- it just has a longer half-life than I was expecting. I'd give it another month yet." 

Mack sighed. "Okay. So I admit I'm a little low on energy." 

Holli raised her brows. "Well, I'm sure if we handle this right, you should have all the staying power we need -- that's what really counts." She winked at him. 

Mack grinned hugely. "All right, my pretty island orchid, since you're so understanding, you can start off the festivities." He swung his legs up onto the bed and spread-eagled himself. "I'm all yours, Doc." 

"Oh, Mack, if you only knew how long I've been waiting to hear that," Holli said with relish, starting on the buttons of his shirt. 

"Why do I get the feeling you want me, not so much for my body, but for my cadaver?" Mack addressed the ceiling plaintively. 

"Oh no." She got to the third button and paused to run her hands inside. "I want this body warm --" she cupped the heavy pectoral muscles "-- and willing --" she tweaked his nipples "-- and very lively." She brushed her knuckles across his abdomen, making him yelp and squirm. "Ticklish?" she said evilly, attacking the remaining buttons. 

"No, not at all," Mack returned breathlessly. "But come on, Doc, don't you think you have me at a disadvantage here?" 

Holli smiled and stripped off the turtleneck she had donned in honor of Cascade's weather. She enjoyed the way his eyes lit up at the sight of her skin as she twisted an arm back to undo her bra. 

"Allow me," said Mack gallantly. He half-sat and reached behind her with both arms, not incidentally bringing them into very close contact. 

Holli sighed at the warm press of his body. It only lasted a moment, though, before her breasts were free. "You're too good at that," she observed. "Practice?" 

"Motivation," Mack replied, cupping a breast in each palm. He gave each a soft peck with his lips, then began kissing and suckling the right one in earnest. 

Holli ran her hands over his back and shoulders, loving the power of his muscles as they supported him at a slightly awkward angle. She stroked his hair -- short but startlingly fine and soft. She pushed him back so she could taste the sweet, smooth skin of his neck. 

Mack acquiesced, letting her take control, but his hands drifted back to her breasts at frequent intervals with typical male single-mindedness. 

Holli investigated the narrow line of hairs down the center of his chest, so fine they were almost invisible. They tickled her lip and she giggled against his navel, making his rippled abdomen twitch. 

"Not trying to tickle me again, are you?" he asked. 

"No, I had other plans in mind," she assured him, and continued downward. She kissed along the edge of his pants, running the point of her tongue just under the waistband. He arched up under her touch and trembled gratifyingly as she slowly opened his fly. When he raised his hips for her to pull the pants down, the bulge at his groin stood out in sharp relief. Then the pants and briefs were down around his knees and his erection pointed proudly at the ceiling. 

"That's funny," she said, studying his penis. 

"I was kinda hoping for a different reaction." 

Holli brought a hand up to her mouth. "Oh my God. I can't believe I said that! Mack, I am so sorry. I'm not usually so, so -- _rude_ with anyone!" 

"Well, I'm glad you're losing your inhibitions with me, but . . . those are the wrong inhibitions." Mack grunted as he kicked his pants off the rest of the way. 

"Really, I _am_ sorry. I don't know what made me say that!" 

"You're just makin' it worse, you know." Mack looked down at himself. "Do I get to know what's so funny?" 

Holli stood and started to pull off her own pants. She had been noticing the fact that his penis curved very gently to the left -- in the opposite direction from Jim's. That had brought to mind the very rare cases of twins who were not so much identical as symmetrical -- sometimes to the extent that one twin would have heart and spleen on the right side of the body rather than the left. But she couldn't admit to that; discussing Mack as a scientific specimen would be just as bad as comparing him to his twin. "I can't tell you," she confessed as she rejoined him on the bed. "But I promise you it's nothing bad. There's nothing wrong with it at all, in fact it's very--" 

"Actions speak louder, Doc," Mack reminded her. 

"Right." And she lowered her mouth to him. 

He was musky and smooth. She preferred her partners circumcised if she was going to give head -- it just tasted cleaner, somehow. Mack's penis was sweet in her mouth as she fluttered her tongue over the glans. He groaned somewhere above her head. 

She took her time exploring, as she hadn't had a chance to do with Jim. Mack's testicles were large, tight and sensitive. She licked down along the seam in the scrotum and teased the soft skin of the perineum very gently with her tongue. Mack whimpered and raised his knees to give her better access. 

Squeezing his balls gently so that her little finger just barely brushed across his anus, Holli returned to kissing that elegant penis. It was straighter now as the blood filled it more fully. She licked and sucked and swirled her tongue over it, enjoying the helpless noises that Mack was making. When her jaw began to ache she paused and looked up at him. "How you doing?" 

"Oh -- not bad," Mack gasped. "What about you?" 

"Oh, I'm having fun." She glanced around the room. "Do you have supplies?" 

"Yeah -- back pocket." Mack groped for the pants he had kicked aside a few minutes earlier. "Here." 

"Always knew you were a boy scout, Mack." 

"Right. Gotta be prepared. Ahhh!" Mack threw his head back as she fondled him again preparatory to rolling the condom down his length. She licked each inch of the shaft thoroughly before covering it with latex; Tom had once told her that increased sensation through the rubber, at least for him. 

"Any last words?" Holli asked as she threw a leg across his hips. 

"Just that it's a good thing I'm not as fast as usual, or I'd be real embarrassed right about now." 

Holli smiled. "We'll work on that," she promised, and bent down to fuse their lips together as she took him in. 

Mack groaned into her mouth. 

Holli started a circular motion with her hips, a rhythm she knew would hit all her own hot spots. It was pretty effective for Mack as well, judging from the noises he was making. "Mmmmm! Ah, Doc . . . Holli \-- Dawn!" 

"Now, now. There's no need for name-calling, *Mackenzie.*" 

He gasped and his eyes flew open. "Where'd you hear about that?" 

Holli smiled and ground down a little harder. "Trade secret." 

"Dave. Had to be. I'm gonna -- oh! -- kill him." Mack's voice rose sharply as she reached back to squeeze his testicles. "It's . . . not . . . the same." He whimpered and pushed his hips up against her. His hands grasped unerringly for her breasts. "I, aaah! Changed m'name . . . legally. Oh, Holli." One hand slipped down, caressing across her stomach, to reach between her folds with a clever thumb. 

Holli threw her head back. "Mack!" 

"Come on, Holli, that's it. Oh, yeah." 

They were moving in unison now, hips and thighs working together. Mack's hands teased her nipples and clitoris while she braced herself against his chest and rode him wildly. 

"Mack. I'm almost . . . there . . ." 

"I know, honey, me too. Let it go. Just give it to me." His thumb sent stabs of electricity straight up her spine. 

"Oh, god. Mack!" She arched her back and clamped her knees tight around his hips as her entire being fluttered around the intruder within her. 

"Yeah. Yeah!" He grabbed her hips and lifted her, rolling over in one smooth motion without ever losing contact. She wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as he thrust within her, sobbing her name again and again. 

For long minutes, they lay tight-wound together, their breaths slowly easing. Mack's taut muscles began to go limp. Holli pulled free of him gently before he could soften enough to lose the condom. He lipped sweetly at the underside of her chin, his eyes drooping shut. 

Holli lay still, enjoying the warmth and the weight of him above her. From this angle, she could just see the boyish vulnerability of his relaxed features. Her legs began to cramp and she tried to bring them down gradually, but it was enough to rouse him. 

"Sorry," he mumbled, shifting his weight onto his elbows. "I must be squashing you." 

"No, I like it," she said honestly. 

"Hmm." Mack favored her with a goofy, crooked smile. "Gotta do something about this, though." He rolled to one side and grabbed a tissue from the nightstand while he pulled off the condom. 

Holli frowned. "You don't believe me, do you? Why do men always expect women to be so fragile? I bet you didn't think twice about resting your weight on *Blair.*" 

Mack raised his eyebrows. "Now, don't be jealous." 

Holli felt her cheeks heating. "I'm not!" 

"No? Sure sounds like it to me." 

She scowled, just beginning to realize what a sensitive point this was for her. "I'm not jealous of Blair, I'm angry at him. He was just using you as, as a substitute!" 

"For Jim. I knew that from the start. We were both honest with each other, and I warned him I was doing the same thing." 

Holli's eyes widened theatrically. "You were using him as a substitute for Jim?" 

"No!" Irritated at first, Mack suddenly cracked up. "But can you imagine Ellison's face if I propositioned him?" 

"I can imagine your face," Holli said, stroking her knuckles along the bruise that darkened his jaw. 

Mack caught her hand and pressed it to his cheek. "You got nothing to worry about. Blair's a nice kid, but you're -- well, you. You don't have to compete with him." 

"I know that. I do, really. I just --" 

Mack placed a finger across her lips, then leaned in to kiss her. 

There was a knock at the door. 

Mack groaned, his head sagging until his nose was nestled between her breasts. Holli giggled, raising a hand to her mouth to smother the ridiculous sound. 

The knock repeated. Mack raised his head, met Holli's eyes disgustedly, and carolled in sweet tones, "Who is it?" 

"Mack?" came a muffled voice. "It's me, Blair." 

Mack frowned and started to pull away. Holli clung to him for a moment, purely from reflex. "He sounds upset," Mack explained, reaching for his pants amid the pile of clothes on the floor. Hopping on one leg as he drew them on, he headed for the door. Then he snapped his fingers and turned back, opening one of the dresser drawers. 

"Mack?" Blair called again. 

"Just a sec, okay?" Mack shouted back. He pulled a large shirt out of the drawer and passed it to Holli. "Here. You want to go in the bathroom?" 

"No, that's okay." She dropped the sheet she had been holding over her chest and slipped her arms into the shirt, hastily fastening it with the buttons askew. 

Mack waited for her nod to open the door. Blair was standing in the hallway, looking wet and miserable. 

"What's wrong, Tiger?" Mack demanded. 

"Umm . . . can I stay here tonight?" 

Mack's mouth opened, then closed again. "Come on in. You look frozen." 

Blair advanced as far as the foyer and stopped in his tracks when he saw Holli sitting on the bed. 

She grinned sheepishly. "Hi, Blair." 

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry, Mack. I'll, um, go . . ." Blair turned towards the door. 

Mack caught him by the arm. "Hold it right there, Tiger. Why don't you tell us what's wrong and why you turned into a human icicle?" 

"Umm . . ." Blair peered out from under the hair plastered to his forehead. "Jim kicked me out." 

"What?" Holli and Mack cried in unison. 

"Well, it's more like I walked out. He said some things, and then I said some things, and . . ." 

"Is this about me?" Mack demanded, dreading the answer. 

"Partly. Partly it's just that he can be a total dick at times, and phobic too. Anyway, I thought I would go to my office at the U, or maybe crash with some friends. But I didn't want to drag somebody out of bed, and I left my car at the crime scene, and I didn't have cab fare . . ." 

"How did you get here?" Holli asked. 

"Bus. Part of the way, at least. Not all the lines are running this time of night." He shrugged uncomfortably. "But it looks like this room is kinda booked tonight, so I guess I'll find someplace else." 

"Oh, no you won't," Mack said, hauling him away from the door again. 

"Let go of me!" Blair pulled sullenly out of the taller man's grasp. 

"Fine, as long as you don't try to run away again. We're not tossing you out on the street. You need to take a hot shower and get some sleep, and things will look better in the morning." 

Blair gave him a disappointed look. "Thanks for the platitudes, man, but I think I know more about it than you do." He pushed the wet hair from his face and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I know you're trying to help, but . . . it just hasn't been my day, you know? I'm glad things are working out for you two, though." 

"Just hold it right there," Mack admonished. "Not one step. Give me two seconds, okay?" 

"Look, man, I'm not going to rain on your party --" 

"That isn't what I'm talking about. Holli, where's your key?" 

"What key?" she asked. 

"Your room key. Blair can stay in your room tonight. That's all right with you, isn't it?" 

Holli just stared at him a moment in surprise. It was a good idea, but . . . "Mack, all my things are up there." 

"What, shy? I'm sure Blair has seen bras and panties before." 

"No, I mean my medical bag!" 

Blair flushed dully and moved further into the room. "I'm not some kind of drug addict, you know," he announced. 

"Oh, Blair, that's not what I meant!" She started to leave the bed and froze as she found out how little the shirt covered. "I'm just used to being careful, that's all." 

"Take it easy guys," Mack soothed. "There's a simple solution. Two solutions, actually. Holli and I can get dressed and move upstairs --" 

"No," Blair protested. "I don't want to put you guys out." 

"*Or,*" Mack continued, "I can go up with Blair, get the medical bag, and bring it back down here. That way you won't have to worry about the maids either, Doc." 

"That would work," Holli agreed. "And it's probably the quickest way to get Blair into a warm shower, which it looks like he really needs right now." 

"Okay, it's settled," Mack declared. "Key?" 

"In my purse." Holli pointed at the bureau by the TV. 

Mack retrieved the plastic key-card and conducted Blair gently towards the door. 

"Mack!" Holli hissed. "At least put on a shirt!" 

"Why? Who's gonna see me at this hour between here and the nineteenth floor? Anyway, if they do, the thrill will wake 'em up." Mack winked at her and slipped out the door, bare-chested and shoeless. 

Blair, his shoulders drooping and feet dragging, didn't react to the men who stepped around the corner while they were waiting in the elevator alcove. Mack did react, but not quickly enough. The first stranger had a gun to Blair's head before Mack could get to him, and after that there was nothing the cop could do if he didn't want to see his friend's head blown off. 

"That him, Mr. Shoemacher?" demanded the gunman. 

"Yes," said the middle-aged man, practically jumping with nervousness. "That's Ellison." 

"Told you if we followed Sandburg we'd get both of them soon enough," said the man with the gun. 

Mack had just opened his mouth to protest, when he realized that he knew the gunman. Tall, lean, silver-haired but not old, he was the man who had been driving the van in the track parking lot. Barrett, that was his name -- one of the kidnappers. 

"Oh, shit," was all Mack could say. 

  * * * 



Jim stood motionless, staring out the balcony doors at the rain that streaked the glass. A piece of his soul burned to pace, to move, to take some action, but there was no point. He had really done it now. He'd brought his whole world crashing down in pieces. Blair was gone, who knew where, and he wouldn't be coming back. He was going to move out, cut off their friendship, make this strictly a working partnership . . . and then, probably, he would phase out even the police work as well. Maybe Blair would find another Sentinel to study -- one that was more easygoing, lived in a warmer climate, and didn't act like a homophobic caveman when he was startled. 

But better for Blair to think Jim was a phobe than for him to know the real truth. Let him think Jim had never been with a man in his life, let him think his roommate was sickened at the very idea of a physical relationship between men -- so long as he didn't guess the real reason it could never work between them. 

And it truly couldn't work, Jim should know that by now. He could hold it together for a night or two, but a long-term relationship . . . Carolyn had proved how impossible that was for him. He had resigned himself to the fact years ago, but apparently some seed of hope had still lingered whenever he saw his Guide's face, touched his shoulder, smelled his hair. Now his Guide was gone and that final seed was crushed, by Jim's own doing. 

The Sentinel heard the tiny electrical _fizp_ and turned to glare at the telephone a moment before it rang. If that was Simon, calling him out to some remote crime scene in the middle of the night -- 

In a flash of clarity, Jim remembered Sandburg's Volvo, parked in the lot by Shingle Beach. The student had never mentioned it or objected to leaving it behind; he had just followed silently wherever Jim needed him. What if he was in trouble now, stranded without even an unreliable vehicle to get around in? 

Jim snatched up the phone on the second ring. "Sandburg?" he demanded, and then winced. If it was Simon, the captain would know instantly that something was wrong. 

"No, it's Holli," came the slightly breathless answer. "Jim, I think you'd better get over here. Mack and Blair have disappeared." 

Jim closed his eyes in pain, feeling a tiny ember die to ash in his chest. "Well, I think there's a fairly simple explanation for that," he said coldly. 

"No, Jim, you don't understand! They were just walking a few floors. Mack wasn't even dressed to go outside -- he was barefoot, for God's sake. And they never got where they were going. Something must have happened to them. Jim . . . I think they were kidnapped!" 

Jim swallowed hard as a new terror joined the agony that had been roiling in his stomach all evening. Sandburg getting kidnapped was only too plausible. "I'll be right there." 

  * * * 



It was always possible to beat a blindfold. Through the hollows along the side of his nose, Mack could see the floor of the van they were riding in. If he tilted his head back and twisted to the side, he could see the man with the gun, sitting in the last seat. He might even be able to plan an attack the next time their nervous driver took a corner too fast. 

But it wasn't just his own life he would be risking. If Barrett was following the same pattern he had used while leaving the hotel, that gun was pointed squarely at Blair's head. The odds that Mack would be quick, accurate, and lucky enough to throw himself over the back of the seat and knock the gun free without getting himself or Blair shot were simply not good. Mack might be a gambler, but he didn't play around with his friends' lives. 

He wondered how the young observer was doing. At the hotel, Blair had been frightened out of his exhaustion and self-absorption, but he hadn't seemed panicked. He had watched Mack for any cues and had sensibly done whatever Barrett told them. In two years of tagging along with Ellison, Blair had apparently learned to stay calm in a crisis. That would come in handy, if their chance ever arrived. 

Mack tested his bonds carefully. Their hands had been tied behind their backs with thin plastic straps that ratcheted together somehow. They weren't the new plastic handties some police departments were using -- these things could only get tighter, not looser. His hands were already starting to swell uncomfortably. At least handcuffs could be locked in position so they didn't get any tighter; apparently their captors were not so considerate. 

"So, Chief, where you planning to take us?" he demanded. 

"Wha--" Blair began. 

"Shut up. Both of you." The gunman behind them kicked their seat for emphasis. 

"Could we at least get some heat in here? I'm a little underdressed." 

"I said shuddup!" A hand whapped Mack's head hard enough to sting. 

Mack sighed and tilted his chin up just far enough to see Blair's legs in the seat next to him. It looked like they were going to have to wait for a better opportunity to come along. 

  * * * 



Holli was at the front desk of the hotel when Jim arrived. The harried clerk she was speaking to broke into a broad smile as soon as he laid eyes on Jim. 

"Here he is, ma'am. I told you your friend would be fine." 

Holli spun around, her hopeful expression falling as she recognized Jim. "That's not him. This is Detective Ellison, my friend's twin brother." 

Jim winced as he heard his family's shame announced so publicly, but of course the clerk couldn't know the whole story. Squaring his shoulders, Jim turned to Holli. "Tell me what you know." 

Holli opened her mouth, then paused, visibly editing what she was about to say. "They were walking from the sixteenth floor -- Mack's room -- up to my room on the nineteenth. Mack was, um, just wearing a pair of jeans -- no shirt, no shoes. When he -- they -- didn't show up after a few minutes, I got worried and checked it out. As far as I can tell, they just disappeared. They never made it to my room, they didn't walk past the front desk here -- just gone." 

Jim frowned. "Wait -- they were heading up to nineteen to see you?" 

Holli blushed. "Not quite. I was . . . with Mack, when Blair showed up. He was, um, pretty upset." She studied Jim for a moment. "He was also wet and cold and needed a place to stay. So we offered my room, and Mack was taking him up there. He never came back, and when I got up to nineteen, they didn't answer the door. Security let me in and I saw no sign that they had ever gotten there." 

Jim looked at her more closely. Her hair was unusually disordered, her cream turtleneck slightly rumpled . . . and she smelled unmistakably of sex. "I see," he said slowly. "You didn't waste much time, did you?" 

Holli closed her eyes slowly. "Jim, it's not like -- I didn't mean --" She took a deep breath. "Maybe we should discuss this later. Right now, we need to find Mack and Blair." 

Jim nodded curtly. There was a new pain of betrayal in his chest now, but it was accompanied by a slight relief. If Holli had been spending the night in Mack's room, and Blair had been planning to sleep in Holli's room, that meant Blair hadn't run straight from the loft into Mack's arms. He still might have wanted to, though. 

Jim cleared his throat, pushing his hurt aside. "You think they left the hotel? They're not just talking in some public area or anything?" 

"Well --" Holli waved at the clerk "-- we asked security to search for them, and so far, nothing." 

"But they didn't look in any of the rooms, did they?" 

"People are sleeping!" the clerk said, aghast. 

Holli frowned. "Why would Blair and Mack have gone into one of the rooms?" 

"I don't know," Jim replied. "I just want to make sure they're not really in the hotel." He could search for them with his Sentinel senses, but it would take hours to check every floor of the hotel -- a waste of time, if they really had been taken somewhere. "You say they didn't leave past the front desk?" he asked. 

The clerk shook his head. "I was sitting right here doing my taxes." He waved at the forms spread out behind the counter. "I would have seen anyone go past." 

"Are there other ways to exit the hotel?" 

"Of course," said the clerk. "We have emergency exits everywhere." 

"I mean, ways that wouldn't set off an alarm or anything." 

The clerk considered. "The stairwell doors are alarmed. But the two at the ends of the ground floor corridors aren't. Those exit onto Eleventh and Twelfth streets." 

Jim nodded slowly. "Could anyone get _in_ that way?" 

"No, those doors are locked at night. Unless someone happened to be coming in just as a guest was leaving." 

"Not very likely at this hour," Holli pointed out. 

"No," Jim agreed. "So, did anyone come in past the front desk in the past hour or so?" 

"Oh, yes, I saw the young man come in. Your, er, brother's friend, the one with the long curly hair? He's been in and out for the past few days, so I recognized him. And then, let's see . . . there were a couple of other men. I hadn't seen them before, but they didn't come to my desk for help, so I thought they must have checked in this afternoon or something." 

"When did you see them?" Jim asked. 

"Oh, right after the young man came in. One of them said something about the wet footprints on the floor, and I was thinking I should call the porter to mop it up. And then --" the clerk frowned. "It was strange, because they waited at the elevators for a long time, even though most of the cars were here at the lobby." 

Jim grimaced. It sounded as if the two had been following Blair, waiting to see what floor he got off on. "Do you remember what they looked like?" 

"Ummm . . ." said the clerk uncertainly. "They were casually dressed, I remember that. Sort of middle-aged?" 

Jim pulled their best photo of Roy Barrett from his pocket. "Was this one of them?" 

The clerk studied the photo. "Yes! I remember the grey hair, since it seems premature. I'm sure he's not that old." 

"And the other?" Jim asked slowly. 

"Um, light brown hair? Maybe glasses, I'm not sure. I'm sorry I can't tell you more, Detective." 

"That's all right," said Jim absently. "You've been a big help. I think they've probably left the hotel by now, but I'd appreciate it if you could keep security looking. Have them check all the rooms that are supposed to be unoccupied, all right?" He jerked his head at Holli, stepping away from the desk. 

"So I was right," she murmured. "They _were_ kidnapped?" 

"It looks like it," Jim replied. "And if the clerk's memory is good, it sounds like these are the same people who kidnapped Felix Gearhardt." He swallowed hard at the memory of the blood smears in Shoemacher's boat and the searing smell of acid. "The same people who cut up that body we found on the beach." 

  * * * 



They were hauled out of the van and conducted through a number of doors and large enclosed spaces, over floors that started out linoleum and progressed to concrete that sucked the last remaining warmth from Mack's bare feet. Then Barrett made them sit on the ground, and the other man tied their feet together with more of the same plastic straps. 

"So do we get to know where we are yet?" Mack demanded. 

A booted foot whammed into his unprotected stomach, and he curled around the fiery pain. He was dimly aware of being dragged somewhere, then rough hands were forcing him to uncurl and arch his back. He whimpered as the straps around his wrists were attached to the straps around his ankles. Stretching his stomach like that was agony, but the bonds kept him from straightening out. 

"Mack! Mack, are you all right?" Blair demanded anxiously. 

"I thought your name was Jim," said a voice above Mack's head. 

Panting, unable to get a good breath, Mack waited for a cue from Blair. He was unsure of the importance of the masquerade; would they be more or less likely to kill him if they knew he wasn't Jim Ellison? 

Blair stepped in. "Yeah, well my name's Blair, but he calls me Chief all the time. So I call him Mack, what's the big deal?" 

"Come on Mr. Shoemacher, just leave them," said another voice Mack recognized as the gunman. 

Footsteps retreated, echoing oddly, and then a very heavy door slammed. 

"Ungh," Mack managed, trying to reassure his friend. "Jussec -- lost m'breath . . ." 

"You okay?" 

"Yeah. Hey, Blair . . . I do _not_ call you Chief," 

"Yes you do." 

"I only say that to people I don't like." 

"But you -- but Jim -- oh. You said it that first day." 

"Yeah, at the track. You were driving me crazy, calling me Jim." 

"I guess it started out the same way with Jim, but it turned into a nickname when we got to be friends." 

"So is his name Mack or Jim?" a querulous voice demanded. 

Mack froze a moment, then started twisting his head, trying to rub the blindfold off against the cold, hard floor. He got one eye free and craned around to find Blair looking similarly dissheveled. They were in a very small room or a large closet, with the only light coming through a tiny window in the door. 

Blair was staring off in another direction. Mack rolled his head that way to find a weedy blond-haired man sitting hunched up in the corner, wrists and ankles bound together but not behind his back. He squinted at them uncertainly in the dim light. There was something familiar about him, but Mack couldn't quite place it. 

Blair caught on more quickly. He whuffed out a breath and said ironically, "Felix Gearhardt, I presume?" 

The skinny man frowned at them. "Who are you guys?" 

"Ummm . . ." Blair started. 

"We're cops," Mack simplified. "Investigating your kidnapping. He's Blair Sandburg, and I'm . . . Jim Ellison." 

"Jim, huh?" Pale brows rose in astonishment. "This isn't much of a rescue," he pointed out. 

"Well, no." Mack rubbed his head against the floor again, trying to get the blindfold the rest of the way off. "We sort of ended up on the wrong side of the investigation." With the blindfold gone, he studied their surroundings a little more closely. "What is this place, anyway?" 

"We're at the chemical plant," Blair said. "I recognized the smell." 

"What chemical plant?" 

"Um, you remember, don't you Jim? Puget Chemicals, where the victim and the suspects all work?" 

"Right, the green van," Mack recalled. 

"Yeah. Anyway," Blair concluded, "this looks like an office supply closet to me." 

The most obvious feature of the room was the reams of copier paper stacked against the wall. Other boxes of common supplies were also visible. 

"It's not a closet," Gearhardt put in unexpectedly. "I mean, we use it for supply storage now, but it's really a kiln." 

"Isn't that a kind of an oven?" Mack demanded incredulously. 

"Yeah," said Blair in a hollow voice. "It's for firing ceramics. Heats up to hundreds of degrees Fahrenheit." 

"And there's no way out if you're locked inside," Gearhardt informed them. 

Mack dropped his head back to the floor with a small thud. "Great," he breathed into the claustrophobic space. "We're shut in an oven. So when does the wicked witch show up?" 

  * * * 



Jim hung up the phone and pushed it across the hotel counter, disordering the clerk's tax forms. "We have a lead." 

Holli was at his side in an instant. "Where are we going?" 

Jim headed for the hotel's front door, his long stride causing Holli to hurry after him. "Dave Whiting has a cabin in the mountains," Jim summed up as he swung into the cab of the truck he had parked under the front overhang. 

"Who's Dave Whiting?" Holli demanded, climbing in the passenger side. 

Jim left rubber behind in the hotel parking lot. "He's a professional knee-breaker. We found his phone number written on a pad at Roy Barrett's house earlier tonight." 

Holli clung to the dashboard. "And Barrett is one of the ones you think took Mack and Blair?" 

"Right. We've searched or staked out nearly every other property associated with Barrett and Shoemacher -- his boss -- but we couldn't find them or the man they kidnapped. Whiting's cabin has to be the place. It's remote, isolated -- perfect for holding a man prisoner." 

"How far away is it?" 

"It'll take us an hour and a half to get there." Jim swung onto the highway that would take them to the mountain road. "Make that an hour," he corrected, and floored the accelerator. 

  * * * 



"This used to be a ceramics company," Gearhardt was explaining. "They were among the low bidders to make new tiles for one of the space shuttles. So they bought lots of new equipment and stuff, and then came the Challenger explosion and the shuttle program was put on hold. The company went bankrupt, and Quentin bought the plant with all the equipment. We cleaned most of the stuff out, but the kiln was just too big. So we converted it for storage." 

"Wait, you mean it's not a working kiln anymore?" Blair demanded. 

"Oh no, we dismantled it. Disconnected the gas lines." Gearhardt noticed Mack's struggles. "Hey, don't pull on them. Those are cable ties. They just keep getting tighter, and you won't break them. You'll be more likely to lose a hand or something." 

"So I figured out." Mack stopped writhing. "How come Blair and I get our hands and ankles tied behind us and yours are in front?" 

"Because we're tough, fearsome cops," Blair pointed out. 

"Nobody's really scared of me," Gearhardt added, almost wistfully. 

Mack sighed and stared up at the low ceiling. "How hot do these things burn, anyway?" he asked uneasily. 

"Well, they don't `burn,' exactly -- I mean, there's no actual fire inside. They're just supposed to get really hot, so the ceramics can bake. I think this one was rated for 900 degrees. But with all this paper in here, I don't know what would happen. I suppose it _would_ burn, and maybe get even hotter than it's supposed to." 

"That's like a crematorium," Mack said. "Hot enough to burn us up and destroy any evidence." 

"But the kiln doesn't work anymore," Gearhardt insisted. 

"Yeah man," Blair put in. "If they were going to use the kiln to destroy their evidence, why go through all that stuff with the guy on the beach?" Blair asked. 

"What guy?" Gearhardt was puzzled. 

"We're not sure. They cut him into pieces, dipped the head and hands in acid, and dumped the pieces into the Sound from Shoemacher's boat." 

"Oh, God, is that what they did to him?" Gearhardt gulped. "That was the other guy who grabbed me. I never met him before, but Roy called him `Dave.' Last night -- I think it was last night -- a little over twenty-four hours ago, anyway, they were moving me here from the place where they held me before." 

"Where was that?" Mack pressed. 

"I don't know, somewhere out in the back woods. They were bringing me back here to kill me, Dave made that perfectly clear. But just when he was about to shoot me, Quentin grabbed his hand and tried to twist the gun away. Dave ended up getting shot instead. Quentin was almost in hysterics worrying what to do with the body. Then Roy stuffed me in here and that was all I knew about it." 

"See!" Blair said. "If they were going to burn the body in the kiln, why cut him up and dump him in the bay?" 

"Great," Mack muttered. "So instead of cooking us, they're going to turn us into fish food!" 

  * * * 



Jim rendezvoused with the sheriff a mile short of Whiting's cabin. They consulted briefly with their trucks standing head to toe, then approached the cabin at a crawl with their headlights off. 

"You stay in the truck, got that?" Jim said under his breath. 

"Do you have a spare gun?" Holli asked. 

"Can you use it?" Jim asked absently, staring into the darkness. 

"I wouldn't ask if I couldn't," she replied shortly. 

"Shit!" said Jim. He turned on his headlights and gunned the truck's engine, pulling to a stop just in front of the small cabin and leaping out of the truck. Holli scrambled out after him and followed him up the rickety front steps. 

"What the hell are you doing?" the sheriff demanded through the window of his own truck. 

"They're gone," Jim called back, not bothering to keep his voice down. "They left long before we got here." He tried the door of the cabin, then kicked it in fiercely and stared inside. "They were here, though." 

"How can you tell all that?" Holli demanded, looking for a light switch. She flipped it on and looked around for herself. 

"I saw the tire tracks outside," Jim said. "Chevy van, about twenty-four hours old." 

"In the _dark_?" 

"Look." 

Holli followed his gaze and saw a hardbacked chair in the middle of the room. Severed strips of white plastic curled on the floor beneath; one had a smear of dried blood on it. "You're right," she said in surprise. "Someone _was_ held prisoner here." 

"It must have been Gearhardt," Jim said. "But where did they take him?" 

"Where did they take Mack and Blair?" Holli corrected. 

"Same place, I'm betting." 

"You've already lost one bet tonight." This side trip had cost them an hour already -- what might have happened to Mack in that space of time? 

Jim cast her a stricken look, then quickly turned away as the sheriff entered the cabin. "All right, let's see if they left us any clues." 

  * * * 



The way their hands and ankles were tied, Mack and Blair were forced to lie awkwardly on their sides. Blair rolled over repeatedly, seemingly unable to stay still. 

"You all right, buddy?" Mack asked. 

"Yeah, I'm okay. I'm just not too crazy about enclosed spaces, you know? There was this incident last year with an elevator, and since then . . ." Blair trailed off. 

"I know what you mean. It's cold that does it for me." Mack shivered. 

"Oh, man, I thought I was chilly with this damp jacket on, but you must be freezing!" 

In fact, Mack's arm and side were starting to go numb from the chill of the floor, and he could hardly feel his hands at all. "Don't worry, Tiger. Holli will show up. She always does. Well, usually." 

Blair gave him a worried look. "Usually?" 

"When I don't manage to save myself first," Mack explained. 

"Well, since I don't see any way out of here, we're probably better off counting on my luck," said Blair. "Jim _always_ comes to save me." 

"So, nothing to worry about." Mack smiled falsely. 

"Nothing to worry about," Blair agreed. 

In the silence that followed, they clearly heard a clanking sound near the back wall of the kiln. 

"Oh shit!" said Gearhardt. 

"What? What is it?" Blair demanded. 

"I think they're hooking up the gas." 

  * * * 



There wasn't much at the cabin, and half of what was there they couldn't touch until Forensics was done with it. The sheriff had gone out to his truck to call in their discoveries. Holli pulled on some gloves and began leafing through the only documents she could find, while Jim wandered around glaring at everything. 

The papers were unhelpful: some ancient utility bills for the property, a receipt from a carpenter for work on the porch steps, two local advertising flyers, and a warranty for the refrigerator humming in the tiny kitchen. Holli reached the bottom of the pile and shuffled the papers back into place with a sigh, looking around for Jim. 

The detective was crouched near the chair in the middle of the room, staring at something with astonishing intensity. Holli waited a minute, thinking that some hunch must be germinating in his brain, but when Jim still didn't move she laid a hand on his shoulder. "Jim?" 

He gasped suddenly, tried to straighten and nearly fell over. "What?" 

"Did you find something?" 

Jim shook his head. "Gearhardt was alive when they left. There were two bigger men watching him, probably Barrett and Whiting." 

"How can you tell all that?" 

Jim waved a hand vaguely at the room. 

Holli looked at the small smear of blood on one of the restraints that had been cut free. "Bodies can bleed post-mortem, you know. They could have strangled him or something and then cut the ties free, knicking the body in the process." 

Jim shook his head. "He was alive. There's nothing else here, though, nothing to tell us where they went. Unless --" His head came up and he stalked into the kitchen area. 

There was little enough there: cupboards nearly empty, a few coffee mugs in the dish drainer, a quart carton of cream squashed in the trash. Jim grabbed the heavy sugar bowl from the counter and lifted its lid. "Sucraslim," he said after a sniff. 

"I thought it smelled just like sugar." 

"Not quite." 

Holli considered. "Well, at least they have product loyalty." 

"That's the one place we haven't looked," Jim growled. "The chemical plant." 

"Wouldn't it be too crowded to hide a prisoner? People work there every day." 

"But it's nighttime now." He spun and headed for the door. "Let's get back to town." 

  * * * 



For a few moments, Blair and Mack just stared at the other man in appalled silence while the clanking continued. 

"Okay," said Blair at last. "We need to do something. At least get our hands free." 

"I told you!" Gearhardt's voice quavered. "We can't get out of here whether we're tied up or not!" 

"Fine, but I'd still like to be able to sit up straight. And Mack's hands are turning blue. I have a Swiss Army knife in my left front pocket \-- that should cut these plastic things, if I could just get to it." 

"Gearhardt, your hands are in front of you. See if you can reach into Blair's pocket," Mack ordered. 

Before the two had done more than slide a few inches closer together, the kiln's heavy door was pulled open. With some difficulty Mack rolled over onto his other arm to face the door. He was definitely starting to go numb now. 

"You know, Shoemacher," he addressed the man in the doorway, "cop killing is not going to make your situation any better." He didn't specify how many cops, since he wasn't sure what the man had been told about Blair's status. Mack just hoped he was getting the name right. 

The man's brow wrinkled, and he stepped into the kiln. "I don't want _anyone_ to get killed. That's not what this is about!" 

"Oh, yeah? Is that what you told the guy we found on the beach?" 

Shoemacher -- if that was the name -- buried his face in his hands. "That was an accident!" he cried. 

"And that's why you cut him into pieces?" 

Something knocked against Mack's leg. Apparently Blair thought he should be keeping quiet right now. 

"I just didn't know what to do," Shoemacher insisted. "No one was supposed to die!" 

"Weren't you planning to kill me?" Gearhardt put in. "That's what Dave said." 

"No, it was all Dave's idea. I was trying to stop him! And then Roy said we had to get rid of the body . . ." 

"Why did you grab Gearhardt if you weren't planning to kill him?" Mack pressed. 

"I just wanted to talk to him! He was going to go to the FDA and spill the whole story. I asked Roy to find him and bring him back, and then Roy had to bring his friend Dave in on it. I never meant for it to get violent. I just thought maybe we could persuade him . . . I mean, it's in the company's best interests to make these sales. And no one's going to be hurt, really!" 

"No one except maybe one in a million," Gearhardt sneered. "And how many millions of people will be eating that stuff?" 

Mack craned over his shoulder to see Blair's expression. Apparently the anthropologist understood what the two men were babbling about, so Mack -- in his role as Jim Ellison -- couldn't reveal his own confusion. 

Shoemacher took a deep breath and straightened, his disordered hair brushing against the ceiling of the kiln. "That's why I brought you here now. I don't want this to get out of hand. Nobody has to die. We just can't let you go to the FDA with this. I've already told Felix I can give him extra stock in the company. I'll do the same for you two if you'll just agree to keep your mouths shut." 

There was a long pause. Mack had no idea what to say. 

"Jim already spoke to the FDA," said Blair at last. 

Mack sucked in a breath between his teeth, guessing that had been the wrong thing to say. 

But Shoemacher was unsurprised. "I know about that. The inspector he spoke to is . . . an acquaintance of mine." 

"You bribed the FDA?" Blair said incredulously. 

Mack kicked backward in Blair's direction. 

"It's not exactly a bribe," Shoemacher insisted. "No one is going to be hurt. We have a good product that can bring us all a lot of profit, once it goes on the market. I can keep the damage from going any further if you'll just play along with me on this." 

"And if we don't agree?" Mack asked softly. 

As if in answer, another metallic clang sounded at the back of the kiln. 

Shoemacher swallowed. "Roy says we shouldn't trust you at all. He says we should . . . get you out of the way." 

"It won't work," Mack said. "The PD knows what case I'm working on. You'll be the first ones they investigate when Blair and I disappear." 

"That won't help you much once you're dead," Shoemacher returned roughly. "Why not do all of us a favor and keep quiet? You'll get good returns on your company shares. I know a cop's salary isn't much, and everyone could use a little extra." 

Mack was wondering what sort of insurance they had set up in case he agreed and then went back on his word. But Shoemacher seemed desperate enough that he might not have thought of that possibility. Mack decided not to mention it. 

"Look, Mr. Shoemacher," said Blair persuasively, "there's already a warrant out for your arrest in connection with the body on the beach. The cops are looking for Barrett, too. The best thing you can do, for yourself and the company, would be to turn yourself in and explain how it was an accident. A good lawyer can probably get you off with -- with community service or something." 

Mack bit down hard on his opinion of that possibility. 

"No." Shoemacher shook his head. "No, it wouldn't work. We need those sales, or the company is going under. I have a mortgage, for god's sake." His voice rose sharply. "What will happen to my wife and kids if I'm brought up on criminal charges? Look, all that's necessary is for you two to say that you made a mistake! Tell them it wasn't a kidnapping in the first place, and Roy and I had nothing to do with Dave's death. When Sucraslim starts selling, we'll all make money. Where's the harm in that?" 

"You're wrong, you know," said Gearhardt in a low, impassioned voice. "The percentage risk may be small, but if even one person dies, that's too many. What will you do when the company gets sued and the lawyers subpoena me? Will you kill us all then?" 

"Speak for yourself, Gearhardt!" Mack snapped. "It sounds like a good deal to me." 

"He's lying, detective, don't listen to him!" There was a sharp edge of hysteria in Gearhardt's speech. "They won't let us go. They can't!" 

A shadow fell across the doorway of the kiln. "Don't bother talking to them, Mr. Shoemacher. It's too late for that." 

Shoemacher turned around. "Roy, no! There has to be another solution." 

"After the cops found Dave? After they already talked to the FDA? No, the only way we're going to keep this quiet is to get rid of the people who know about it -- permanently." 

"You planning to take on the entire Cascade PD?" Mack demanded. "Kill every forensics tech in the city?" 

Barrett laid a hand on Shoemacher's shoulder. "Go on. I'll take care of it." He pulled a gun out of his waistband. 

Shoemacher swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, Felix," he said at last. "I tried to find another way." He edged past Barrett and slipped out the door. 

"You first, *Felix,*" Barrett sneered, leveling the gun. 

With a heave of his entire body, Mack managed to pull his ankles and wrists apart. His legs, still tied together, whammed into the back of Barrett's knees just as the man pulled the trigger. The bullet ricocheted off two walls and thumped harmlessly into a box of toner cartridges. Barrett yelled in fury as he toppled to the floor, trying to bring his gun to bear on Mack. 

Mack kicked again, flopping like a beached fish, and the gun flew free. From the corner of his eye Mack could see Blair convulsing bizarrely, and he wondered if the younger man had somehow gotten in the way of the bullet. Furious, Barrett lunged at Mack, gripping his throat with one hand and punching with the other. 

Mack's wrists were still tied behind his back in bonds that had just become impossibly tight; he couldn't defend himself. He tried to turn his head away as a second, then a third blow smashed into his face. 

"Let him go! NOW!" Blair yelled. He was, incredibly, brandishing a gun. 

Barrett pulled back, staring at Blair in surprise. The kiln door slammed shut. 

"Hands behind your head. Do it! Now lie down on your back," Blair directed. He was sitting in a bizarre half-lotus position, wrists and ankles still bound together and still attached to each other -- but somehow they were in front of him instead of behind his back. He had just enough freedom to keep the gun pointed steadily at Barrett. 

"How did you do that?" Mack gasped. 

The corner of Blair's mouth twitched. "Yoga," he replied briefly. "You okay?" 

"I'll survive. But I think my hands and feet are about to fall off." 

Blair's gaze left Barrett for just a moment. "Oh, man, you're right. It looks like gangrene is setting in. Gearhardt. Yo, Felix, snap out of it! We're still alive. Now get the knife out of my pocket and cut Mack free." 

Just as Gearhardt was fumbling the knife open with shaking hands, a new noise started up -- first a faint hissing, and then the unmistakable _fooomph_ of gas igniting. 

"I think we have a problem," Mack said. 

  * * * 



As she had on the way up the mountain, Holli kept expecting Jim to say something about how quickly she'd gone from one lover to another. And there was no reply she could make. To point out that Jim had started by seducing her rather than the other way around would be a denial of her own part in what had happened. And it would hardly help to say that Mack was the one she had wanted all along. So she waited anxiously for the jealous interrogation to begin. 

But Jim never said a word. He didn't even look over at her, but kept his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead. And that was probably a good thing, since they were traveling about thirty miles per hour above the speed limit on twisting mountain roads. 

At one point, as they were rounding a bend, Jim suddenly slammed on the brakes and swerved to the inside of the curve. Holli found a muscular arm pressed firmly across her chest. Before she could protest, the headlights came to bear on five elk scrambling across the road. They had been nearly invisible while they were in shadow. 

As the truck started forward again, Holli gave Jim a penetrating look. "How did you see them before the headlights reached them?" 

Jim shrugged. "I eat lots of carrots." 

"Riiight," she said under her breath. So many carrots that he could identify at one glance the make, model and age of tire tracks under total darkness? 

"Anyway, the sky's starting to get light," Jim added. 

It didn't seem very light to Holli, but she said nothing, knowing she would get no answers out of Jim right now. She'd just have to keep the anomaly in mind for investigation later. 

By the time they reached the outskirts of Cascade, Holli could see dawn beginning to color the east. Jim turned north as they neared the city, taking back roads full of pot holes to get them to the coast road sooner. When he turned off his headlights abruptly, Holli grabbed for the dashboard. 

"Uh, Jim? It really isn't that light yet." 

"We're here," said Jim, slewing off the road into a mostly-empty parking lot. "I don't want them to see us coming." He pulled the truck to a stop and glared at one of the other vehicles there. "Dammit." 

"What?" 

"That green van. Shoemacher predicted it would turn up in the lot by Monday. If I'd remembered that, I might have saved us some time." 

Holli frowned. "Does that mean they're here?" 

"Yeah. That's the van that left the tire tracks outside Whiting's cabin. I can see the black mud on the rear bumper." 

Holli looked at the indistinct, colorless shape hulking in the gloom and didn't comment. "So where are they?" 

Jim sighed, staring at the plant as if he could see through the walls. "I'm not sure, it's a big place." 

"You've been here before, right? Where would they hide someone?" 

"Depends if they had Gearhardt here during the day. They could hardly keep him in the front office." Jim shook his head. "Wait! If they brought their prisoners in the van, they must have parked close to where they were taking them." He wrenched the truck's ignition off and jumped out, heading for the nearest door into the plant. 

Holli had just gotten out of the truck and was about to follow when Jim turned and slapped a portable phone against her chest. 

"Call 911. Tell them we need some squad cars as back up." 

Holli gaped. "Jim, you don't have a warrant!" 

"Call it hot pursuit. They're in there, I know it. Just make the call, okay? Puget Chemicals on the north Coast Road." 

Holli glared after him as she tried to dial and run at the same time. She was not going to be left out of this. 

Gearhardt seemed inclined to curl into a ball and give up, but Blair bullied him into cutting Mack free despite the rapidly increasing temperature. 

Barrett started to sit up. 

"Don't move!" Blair barked, twitching the gun at him. 

Barrett looked at him incredulously. "Go ahead, shoot me! It's better than frying." 

"You really think Shoemacher would let you burn?" 

"I don't know what the hell he's doing! The asshole must have freaked." 

"This isn't some plan to distract us so you can get the gun back?" 

Barrett shook his head broadly. "Look, kid, would I be involved in plan like that?" He shifted uncomfortably. "Geeze, at least let me stand up -- the floor's getting hot!" 

By this time, Gearhardt was done slicing through Mack's bonds. 

"Here, Tiger, I'll take the gun." 

Blair looked at Mack's swollen, purplish hands and the tiny knife-cuts that marred his wrists. "Can you hold it?" 

"Long enough for you to get free." Mack held the gun with conviction, though it took him several seconds to get his index finger inside the trigger guard. "Okay Barrett, you can stand up, but no funny stuff." 

Barrett scrambled to his feet. "Jesus man, we're all gonna die here anyway, and you're worried about me trying to grab the gun?" 

Gearhardt cut the plastic from Blair's ankles. 

"Hey, is there a way to get these things off without cutting them?" Blair asked. 

Gearhardt frowned, peering at the tiny ratcheting lock. "I don't know. Maybe if I can hold that little tongue down with the tip of the knife \--" He tried it one way, then another, and the plastic slipped free. 

"Great!" said Blair. "Give me those. Hands behind your back, man." 

"Oh, come on!" Barrett protested. 

"Do as he says," Mack growled. 

"Please, if I cooperate, will you just shoot me?" Barrett put his hands back anyway, and Blair bound them snugly but not cruelly. 

"So!" Blair wiped the sweat from his forehead and tried to smile. "How fast do these things heat up, anyway?" 

While Holli was occupied with the phone, Jim took a moment to listen through the door of the plant. His sharp ears traced a bewildering array of machine sounds from basso profundo to shrillest mosquito. It took him nearly a minute to locate a human voice inside the jumble of noise, but when he did, it was the one voice in the world most dear to him. 

" . . . heat up, anyway?" Blair was asking in strained tones. 

"Not sure at first," said an unfamiliar voice. "When it gets going, it's about twenty or thirty degrees a minute." 

"Well, it already feels like Death Valley in July." That was Wolfe. "So that gives us about a minute or two to live -- at the most." 

A hand on Jim's shoulder pulled him back from the verge of a zone-out. "What is it?" Holli demanded. 

"They're in there, and they're in trouble." Jim wrestled with the door handle a moment, but it was locked. It was a heavy fire door; kicking or shooting it wouldn't help much. "Window," he snapped. 

"Over there." Holli pointed. 

"Oh god, we're gonna die!" Gearhardt moaned. "We're gonna die!" 

"Come on, just do it!" Barrett cried. "One bullet to the head. It has to be better than this!" 

Mack glanced at Blair. The younger man had terror in his eyes, but he wasn't breaking yet. Mack shifted his weight uncomfortably. 

"Oh man, your feet!" Blair realized. "Here, I'll put my jacket down and you can stand on it." 

Mack blinked. "Thanks, but it's just delaying the inevitable, don't you think?" He jerked his head at Barrett. "You wanna take his way out?" 

"No way." Blair shook his head. "It's the bitter end for me, man." He panted and pushed back the hair sticking to his face. "At least it's a dry heat, huh?" 

Mack started to laugh, and just then there was a sound at the front of the kiln. They all stared as a face appeared at the tiny window. The door swung open to reveal Jim Ellison. 

"Looks like you were right about your luck, Tiger," said Mack. 

"Told you!" Blair grinned, pushing Gearhardt out ahead of him. 

They stumbled out into the cool air and gasped for breath. Holli was trying to puzzle out the controls to the kiln, but she broke away to hug Mack. He held her against him fiercely, inhaling the fresh scent of her hair. 

"Sandburg! You okay?" Jim asked gruffly. 

"Yeah," said Blair in a small voice. "Good timing, man." 

"Who the hell are you?" Barrett demanded. 

Mack let go of Holli, keeping one arm around her shoulders. "Felix Gearhardt, Roy Barrett, may I introduce Jim Ellison. He's the real thing -- I'm just the understudy." 

As Barrett and Gearhardt began babbling questions simultaneously, Mack looked around. "Hey, where's Shoemacher anyway?" 

"Was he here too?" Holli asked. 

"Who do you think locked us in and turned that thing on?" Blair returned. 

Jim's head turned sharply as if he'd heard something. "I'll get him," he declared, pulling the gun from his belt holster as he started to dodge among the large vats that populated the area. 

Seeing that Barrett was tied up and not about to cause trouble, Mack tried to unpry his fingers from the gun and put the safety on. He found a more slender pair of hands reaching to help him. 

"Are you okay, Mack?" Holli asked, investigating the cuts on his wrists. "Wiggle your fingers." 

"I'm fine, Holli." 

"What about your feet?" 

"A little singed on the bottom, that's all." Mack turned them up one at a time to show her. 

"I'll see to those later," she assured him. "Who are these people anyway?" 

Mack pointed to Barrett. "He's a bad guy. He's a victim," indicating Gearhardt. "We found the other kidnapper on the beach last night, and the guy Jim's chasing is the one in charge of it all, who apparently freaked out and decided to kill everybody involved at once. Did I get that right?" He turned to Blair, but the younger man was staring off in the direction Jim had gone. 

Jim could hear the frantic heartbeats of the fugitive as he tried to conceal himself in the maze of heavy equipment. Jim hadn't been listening to the lecture they got the first time they were here, but whatever went on in this place certainly smelled bad. He didn't want to turn down his sense of smell since Shoemacher's rank fear-sweat made an excellent guide. He would just have to bear the stink as he once had in the sewers. 

He was stalking ever closer until he stumbled with a clang over a misplaced tool. He could hear Shoemacher's gasping breaths as the man left his hiding place to seek another way out. The unmistakable slap of damp palms on metal rungs made Jim look up to find his quarry mounting a ladder above the floor. 

"Hold it right there, Shoemacher!" Jim called, aiming his gun two- handed. 

The man turned and stared at him, face contorted almost out of recognition with fear. Then he kept climbing. 

Jim let off a warning shot that struck sparks from the ladder above the man's head, but Shoemacher didn't stop. He was unarmed and terrified, and any shot that wounded him would probably send him falling to break his neck twenty feet below. Jim cursed and ran for the foot of the ladder. 

He followed Shoemacher up to a level metal grille with railings on the edge. Shoemacher had gone scrambling along this catwalk over the floor of the plant, but in the midst of climbing Jim had missed seeing exactly where the man went. He pulled his gun out again and stalked slowly down the narrow grille, alert for any sound or movement behind the girders he passed. 

The smell was worse up here; some of the vapors must rise. There were all kinds of organic solvents in this place, and Jim thought he could catch just a whiff of sulfuric acid . . . suddenly the acrid scent was overpowering, and Jim gagged, forcibly reminded of the scene on the beach. 

A blurred form rushed out from behind a girder as Jim doubled over, retching. A metal pipe swung down, and his gun left his hands. He tried to bring his arms up to defend himself, but he still couldn't get a breath of clear air. 

The flying gun struck a control paddle hanging from the ceiling. With a warning _blatt_ , several of the vat lids began to slide open. The smell redoubled itself, completely overwhelming Jim. He lost his balance and staggered against the railing. When the pipe descended on his shoulders, he slipped right off the catwalk. 

"JIM!" Blair yelled in horror, and took off like a rabbit. 

They all looked up to see the detective dangling from a catwalk while Shoemacher brandished a length of metal above him. "Oh hell," said Mack, limping after Blair. 

Holli glanced at Gearhardt and Barrett, then lifted the gun she had taken from Mack's swollen hands. She adopted a square stance and sighted carefully down the muzzle. Shoemacher was about to strike; there was no time to think twice. Holli pulled the trigger. 

Blair never felt his feet touching the ground or his hands on the rungs of the ladder. He just knew he had to get to Jim, _fast_. He didn't even notice Shoemacher slumping down to lie on the metal grille. Even as the pipe tumbled into the vat of solvent below, Blair was throwing himself into a headlong slide to catch Jim's hand before it slipped from the edge of the catwalk. 

He caught Jim's wrist in both hands and held on tight. And kept sliding. Throwing his legs out wildly, Blair managed to brace a knee against one of the uprights of the railing. He came to a stop, just barely holding in place with Jim's weight dragging at his shoulder sockets. 

Heavy footsteps jarred the catwalk, and Blair's jeans began to slide across the railing. He yelped and tried to get a grip with his knees, his toes -- anything but his hands, which were fully occupied in keeping Jim Ellison from falling into the vat below. 

Then a large hand caught his shoulder and stabilized him while another stretched down for Jim's other wrist. Mack couldn't quite reach, not while he was holding Blair in place. 

"Jim," he said. "Come on, bro, give me your other hand." 

Jim was barely conscious, barely breathing, and Blair knew why; the smell was nearly enough to choke even him. But unless they got Jim to cooperate, the Sentinel wouldn't be smelling much of anything in a minute or two. 

"Jim!" Blair gasped. "Come on, man, focus. Filter out the smell, concentrate on my voice. You can do it man, look at me!" 

Slowly Jim's eyes opened and peered redly at Blair. 

"Shallow breaths," Blair advised. 

"Give me your hand, Jim," Mack repeated. 

Jim's gaze moved past Blair's shoulder and locked onto his brother's. Blair saw the brief struggle cross Jim's face, too swift for anyone else to read. Anger and hurt and jealousy flashed there for a moment, but trust won out in the end. Jim raised his free hand and twined it firmly with Mack's. 

  * * * 



The wrap-up was the usual chaotic nightmare. Shoemacher was carted off in an ambulance with a bullet in his shoulder, sobbing that he hadn't meant any of it, that no one was supposed to get hurt. Barrett went away in the back of a squad car. Holli got into an argument with one of the uniforms about whether it had been necessary to shoot Shoemacher -- an argument that was silenced when Mack pointed out that her shot had saved a detective's life. Blair, looking on, was unsure whether or not the officer realized that Mack wasn't Jim. 

Simon Banks was not happy to find out after the fact what had been happening, and he let everyone know it. His annoyance with Jim was not tempered by the observation that he'd had almost a full night's uninterrupted sleep. Jim accepted the captain's bellowing with a wooden face while Blair attempted damage control. He didn't have much luck at soothing Simon's anger, but at least he diverted some of it away from his partner. 

Even with all the paperwork deferred until later, they didn't get home until the sun was well up in the sky. Amid all the excitement Blair had nearly forgotten his argument with Jim, but it came back to him as soon as they stepped into the loft. He looked at Jim almost fearfully, expecting a return of the homophobic autocrat he had seen earlier. 

Instead, Jim crossed the room to stare out the balcony windows at the new morning. "Blair, I'm not going to . . . I wish you wouldn't move out," he said finally. 

"That's up to you, man. You think you can deal with me being here, now that you know I date men sometimes?" 

"I . . . don't know," Jim choked out. 

"Well, then. There's the problem." Blair unthinkingly held his breath. 

Jim stroked a finger over some invisibly tiny flaw in the window pane. "Why did you go to Wolfe?" 

Blair's breath rushed out. That wasn't what he'd been expecting. "What?" 

"Why did you go to the Ambassador when you walked out? Why not -- I don't know -- your office, a friend's place, whatever? Why Wolfe?" 

"My friends were all asleep, man. And the buses don't run to the U that time of night." 

Jim bowed his head, pressing it against the window. "I didn't think of that." 

"And," Blair said slowly, "I wanted to share with Mack . . . what had happened. I needed somebody to understand, somebody who's been there." 

"Been where?" Jim asked in apparent bafflement. 

Blair sighed. "It's something every gay or bisexual person has to go through. When you come out to someone close to you, and maybe they take it badly --" 

"That's not what this is about," Jim interrupted. 

"It isn't? Then what was that whole scene when we got home last night?" 

Jim turned his back to the window, facing Blair for a moment, but then he closed his eyes. *Always hiding his emotions from the world,* Blair noted. 

"I don't have any problem with men sleeping together," Jim stated. 

"Jim, you called it a perversion," Blair reminded him painfully. "You said I couldn't date men if I was going to live here." 

"Don't you see, that's not just any man I was talking about, it's you!" 

"Oh, I see. So you think it's fine in theory, but not in your backyard -- you wouldn't want your brother to date one?" 

"Dammit, that's it! That's it right there!" Jim stabbed a finger through the space separating them. "For you to be sleeping with my brother -- my twin -- when you should be . . ." His face shuttered again as he wiped a hand across it. 

"Should be . . . ?" A light went on for Blair. "Jim, you don't mean . . . are you saying you want me for yourself?" 

The bowed head rose and fell again. 

"Not homophobia, but _jealousy_?" Blair's voice squeaked embarrassingly with surprise. 

"Jealousy . . . seems like a very mild word for it." 

"My god." Blair felt his mouth stretching into an involuntary grin. "Jim, why didn't you say something? You really want me?" He crossed the expanse of carpet between them, arms held out. 

Jim held up a hand. "But I can't -- we can't . . . it wouldn't work." 

Blair froze, new hurt lancing through him unexpectedly. He struggled to keep his perspective. "Look, why don't we just sit down, and you can tell me what the problem is." He led by example, taking a seat on the couch, and didn't speak again until Jim had settled as well -- on the other couch, unfortunately. "I really don't see why there _would_ be a problem. To me it looks like . . . I mean, you want me, I want you, what else is there?" 

"You're my *friend,* Blair. My partner." 

"Oh." Blair sat back a little. "Okay, the eternal dilemma of friendship versus romance. I can understand that. But Jim, surely you've dealt with this before. If you don't take the chance, if you don't keep moving forward, the friendship stagnates anyway." 

"There's more to it than that!" Jim insisted. "You're -- you're my Guide. I need you." 

Blair nodded slowly. "So the stakes are higher than what you're used to, is that what you're saying? Jim, all's I can do is just promise that I will always be there for you. No matter what personal stuff goes down, I will _always_ be ready to help you with your senses." 

Jim stared at the carpet and said nothing. 

"And for me -- just my own guess, you know -- I have a feeling that the personal stuff will involve more good than bad. A lot more good." 

Jim took a breath, opened his mouth -- and shut it. Then he did the same again. Blair's instinct in tense situations was to babble, but he clamped his mouth shut and waited. 

"It isn't you," Jim said at last. "It's me. I can't _do_ long-term relationships. It won't work." 

"Hey, man, I'm not exactly the king of commitment myself! But if you think about it, we've been living together for nearly three years already. The long-term relationship is already there." 

"Oh, god." Jim wiped his face. "This isn't working. I don't know how to . . . I didn't want to tell you. But I can't let you think . . . you'd figure it out anyway . . ." 

"Jim, take a deep breath and chill for a second. Just pick your words and say them." 

"It's why my marriage fell apart," Jim said slowly. "It isn't the commitment, the romantic stuff. God knows I have enough trouble with that. But . . . I have a problem. A physical problem." 

That stopped Blair's mouth effectively, though it was open rather than shut. 

"It's the physical side. The sex. I can't . . . I mean I'm not . . . well, usually . . ." 

"Jim, I know you've spent nights with women since your marriage. Lots of times! And they didn't exactly look disappointed the next morning. I mean, how bad can it be?" Blair nearly slapped himself when the words came out. Could he be any _more_ insensitive? 

"I usually manage to fake it," Jim said very quietly. "But it's why I won't date more than once. One of the reasons, anyway. If they ever learned to really read me . . ." 

"Fake it," Blair repeated. "Okay, so that means you have to be getting somewhere, at least. I need more information here, big guy." 

Jim squared his shoulders, taking on the parade-rest look he got when Simon was ripping up at him. "I can get an erection," he said in precise, emotionless tones. "Sometimes. But most of the time I don't . . . finish." 

"Okay. Have you talked to a doctor about this?" 

"Oh, god!" Jim's facade crumpled. "Of course I have! It goes back to Peru. When the helicopter crashed, I took a piece of shrapnel --" 

"Oh shit," Blair breathed, feeling himself shrivel at the mere thought. 

"It wasn't such a big deal. It seemed stupid to get upset about it when the rest of my crew was dead. Hell, I knew I was lucky just to be able to pee without giving myself an infection. But the whole time I was in Peru -- nothing." 

"And when you got back?" 

"They did some surgery, said I might get back to normal, or maybe not, or maybe somewhere in between -- I'd have to figure it out for myself. So I went on leave, and I met a good-looking woman --" 

"Lila." 

"-- And suddenly it was all there again. I went crazy. I was like a teenager -- all I wanted to do was spend the whole day in bed. But then Lila just . . . disappeared. I was hurt, but I thought at least I was \-- you know, functional. After that, well . . . whenever I was interested in a woman, I would act on it. If I wasn't interested I just didn't think twice about why not. But then when I married Carolyn I started to find out how unpredictable it could be." 

Blair closed his eyes, concealing his own emotions this time. Fury at Carolyn would not be helpful just at the moment. But if she had humiliated Jim . . . his fists clenched in his lap. 

"She tried," Jim said as if in answer to Blair's thoughts. "We both tried. Tried to work around it, tried to improvise. There are other ways to have fun, I know that. But mostly what it ended up being was her getting all the pleasure when I couldn't . . . follow through. I guess I got tired of giving all the time. I got resentful. And the whole relationship turned sour." He sighed. "I don't want that for you, Blair. That slow buildup of, of unfairness . . . it's like a ship sinking, one end at a time. Unbalanced. I mean -- one of the good things about a gay relationship is the chance to be equal. You couldn't have that with me." 

Actually, on the few occasions when Blair had dared to dream of getting Jim in bed, he had never envisioned taking turns. Equality was not the word that came to mind when one pictured Jim Ellison and Blair Sandburg together. But Blair pushed that first reaction aside and considered his argument carefully. 

"Jim, being equal is not about being exactly the same. I mean, sexuality aside, you and I are about as different as two people can be. But we get along, we make a good team. We both contribute different things to the partnership, and we get different things out of it. But I think it balances pretty well, and I think it would work the same way in bed. Sometimes, opposites really do attract." Blair looked at Jim, who was watching now with a lost look in his eyes. 

"I think it could be good. But it has to be your decision, man. Whatever you want us to be -- just partners, or friends, or lovers -- I'm in it with you. But I have to say . . ." Blair swallowed. "If you don't want to give it a try, if you want to keep this platonic --" He thought of living life knowing that Jim wanted him in return, yet never daring to touch, and his eyes burned. "I don't know if I could give up dating. Women _and_ men. If that's all I have left." 

Jim started to say something, but stopped. 

"So if that's the way you want it, maybe it _would_ be better for me to move out." Blair swiped at his eyes. "Otherwise, you know, jealousy can put a lot of strain on a friendship." He coughed. "But I don't mean to make that sound like an ultimatum or anything. We'll work it out, whatever you want to do. Right now, um . . . right now I should probably get some sleep. I'm pretty whacked out from that baked alaska stuff that happened -- you know, frozen, then cooked?" He laughed nervously, but it wasn't that funny. "So um, I'll just go . . . lie down . . ." He waited a moment for Jim to say something, then levered himself to his feet and headed for his small bedroom. 

The moment he stepped inside, he realized his mistake. He popped his head out, but Jim had already disappeared from the living room. The big man moved like a cat, so silently that Blair could never keep track of him. He checked the kitchen and was staring wistfully up at Jim's bedroom when he heard the toilet flush. 

Jim stepped out of the bathroom, and in his relief Blair grabbed the larger man by the arms, making Jim recoil in surprise. Blair let go quickly, but kept the space between them small. 

"I'm sorry, man, I was so wasted I forgot the most important part! I should have said this first. Look -- Jim, you're a Sentinel. One of the most sensitive, _sensual_ human beings on the planet. You haven't been doing yourself any favor by sticking with one night stands, man. I think with a partner who knows you, you could find out just how many different ways there are to have fun in bed." He paused to catch his breath, making up the oxygen deficit from his rapid speech. "I just want you to know that. It doesn't have to be all give and no take, not with the advantages you have." Blair stepped back. "So, um --" 

"Going to bed now?" Jim rumbled humorously. 

"Um, yeah. I'm really not thinking straight if I forgot to say that. But you just, um -- think about it, okay? Keep that in mind, whatever you decide." He stepped back into his room. 

"Good night," Jim said, half-smiling. 

"You too. Good morning. Whatever." Blair closed the french doors and crossed the room to flop on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His heart was doing double time, like a teenager's during his first crush. "*He wants me!*" Blair whispered delightedly to the room, and then clapped a hand over his mouth. 

  * * * 



By the time Blair woke enough to stagger to the bathroom and back, the setting sun was limning the balcony window frames with orange light. Jim was nowhere in sight, and Blair belatedly tried to be quiet as he ransacked the refrigerator for something to drink. Just as he had emptied the jug of orange juice and was considering whether to make more, a key turned in the front door. 

"Oh, good," said Blair as his roommate appeared bearing white bakery bags. "I was afraid I would wake you up." 

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Rip Van Winkle, but I've been up for hours." Jim hoisted the bags onto the table. "Got us a couple of sandwiches from Colette's." 

"Thanks, man, I'm starving." Blair investigated the contents. "And thirsty! I better make some more juice." 

"I'll get it," Jim replied, rinsing out the jug. 

"Oooh, you got the tarragon chicken salad! Is that mine?" 

"Dig in." 

Blair unwrapped the sandwich, started to eat it, then remembered to snag a plate and sit down properly at the table; grogginess was not a sufficient excuse for ignoring the House Rules. He was halfway through the sandwich when Jim sat down across from him, and suddenly there was tension in the air. 

"Sho." Blair swallowed hastily. "You get any sleep?" 

"Some." Jim devoted his attention to the food. 

"Feeling all right? No side effects from those chemicals you inhaled?" 

"*I'm* not the one who nearly got fried." Jim's tone sharpened. 

Blair backed down at once. "Sorry, man. Didn't mean to hover." He finished the last of the sandwich in three bites and swallowed half-chewed chunks that he could feel all the way down. Then he carried his plate and glass to the sink. 

"Chief, I didn't mean --" 

"No, it's okay. I know you hate that sort of thing." Blair smiled tightly and headed for the bathroom. He had to do something about his sweat-tangled hair and the fuzz on his face. 

Afterward, running the dryer over his hair in the privacy of his own room, he considered just putting on a CD and keeping to himself for the rest of the evening. It was tempting, but he forced himself to put on clean clothes and head back out into the common area. He was beginning to learn that even when Jim was unwilling to open up verbally, keeping him company sometimes seemed to clear the air all by itself. He didn't quite understand -- either the reluctance to speak or the healing effect of silence -- but somehow it seemed to work for Jim. 

When Blair emerged, Jim was at the sink rinsing the last of the dishes, but he came and sat next to Blair on the couch when he was done. "I didn't mean to jump on your back, Chief." 

"It was my fault." 

"No, it wasn't. I mean, yeah, I get tired of you asking me questions all the time, but I know it's because you're worried. Thing is, I was worried about you too. The whole time you were missing, I kept remembering how we found Whiting's body. Imagining if they did the same thing to you. I don't think I could stand to find you like that." 

Blair swallowed. "Oh, man." 

"And then when I got to the chemical plant, and I found out what Shoemacher was trying to do . . . I was almost too late." 

"Jim." Blair gripped his friend's forearm. "I knew you would find me. You always do, and you're never too late." He tried a lighter tone. "I wouldn't mind if you mastered the concept of _early_ , but I gotta say you have a real flair for the dramatic." 

Jim shook his head, refusing to be amused. "One more minute . . ." 

"You can't think about it, man -- you know that. It turned out all right. Now you just have to let it go." 

"Yeah." Jim leaned forward a moment, elbows on knees, hands disordering his short hair. Then he sat up, took a deep breath and favored Blair with a shaky smile. "Listen, I wanted to ask you --" 

Blair spoke at the same moment. "Jim, something you said --" 

They broke off in confusion, half laughing. 

"You go ahead," Blair urged. 

"No, you. You talk better than me anyway." 

Blair sighed. "Well, it's not the most pleasant topic. But I was wondering about something you said last night . . ." 

"I said a lot of things last night, Chief, and I didn't mean any of them." 

"Yes, you did. You just didn't mean them exactly the way I thought. But when you said that bisexuality was just an excuse for people who couldn't make up their minds --" 

Jim sighed and tipped his head back against the cushions. "That's what I used to believe, for years. Until you came along." 

"Me? Why me?" 

"Because of the way you affected me. I hadn't been with another man \-- not even tempted -- since I was in college." 

"Wait. You're saying you _have_ been with men before?" 

"Sandburg, I was a teenager." 

"Still! Why didn't you tell me?" 

"Because it was years ago, and I hardly thought about it since then. I thought that I had `made up my mind,' and I was straight. But from the first day I met you, it was . . . I just couldn't ignore it, no matter how hard I tried." 

"What, you mean being attracted to me?" 

"Yeah. But not just sexually. There was this . . . connection between us from the beginning." 

"The beginning, huh?" Blair grinned. "Would that be when you shoved me up against the wall?" 

Jim groaned. "I'm sorry about that. I was afraid I was going crazy. You said you had answers, but you weren't giving them fast enough." 

"I figured that much out, Jim. You don't have to apologize. But you mean you were attracted to me as early as that?" 

"Yeah, I guess. I didn't really think of it as a sexual thing until you threw me to the ground and held me there. That's when I started to get hot." 

Blair laughed. "Jim, that wasn't the earth moving -- it was a garbage truck! But hey, man, if dominance is what you want, I can do that." 

Jim took Blair's hand and turned it palm up, resting it against his thigh. "You're what I want, Chief. I've known it for years, but I was afraid." His voice dropped a few tones. "I've been thinking all day about the things you said when we got back here. Remember how you told me it didn't have to be all give and no take?" 

"That's right, it doesn't." 

"Well . . . I don't feel much like giving just now." His gaze bore needfully into Blair. 

"Oh. Oh!" Blair's heart began to pound. He glanced around the room quickly. 

"Sandburg?" Jim dropped Blair's hand as if it burned. "Did I say something wrong?" 

"No . . ." Blair swallowed anxiously. 

"You're scared." 

Blair forced his racing mind to slow down and took a good look at his friend. Jim was pale and tense, looking like a boy that had just broken his favorite toy. "Not scared, man," Blair soothed. "Just nervous. See, I never really expected to have this chance." 

"Oh." 

"And when I did think about it . . . I guess I expected to have more time to prepare. Set everything up just right. Some soft music, scented candles, maybe a hot bath and a massage . . ." 

Jim began to smile. "Sounds good to me. You want me to step out while you get everything ready?" 

Blair gathered himself. "No need. *I'm* ready, that's what counts. So long as you are too." 

"Yeah." Jim raised a hand and stroked Blair's hair tentatively. "I'm ready." 

Blair smiled and caught the hand that was shyly petting the top of his head. He placed a kiss in Jim's palm and returned the hand to the nape of his neck, twining Jim's fingers into the still-damp strands. He leaned forward as if to start a kiss, then veered aside to nuzzle and lip Jim's warm neck. The Sentinel shivered. 

"You see," Blair breathed against smooth flesh, "the whole idea behind all that stuff -- the candles, the music, the scents, maybe a nice wine \-- was to seduce you. Slowly, one sense at a time." 

Jim drew a shuddering breath and lifted his other hand to cradle the back of Blair's head, toying with the silky hair. 

"All of the senses can bring pleasure, when properly stimulated," Blair murmured, touching just the tip of his tongue to soft skin. "All of the nerves in the body -- and you have a hell of a lot of them, Jim -- can work together, in concert, to create an entire symphony of feeling." With one finger he traced the whorls and caves of Jim's ear to make a rushing-ocean sound in the ear canal. 

Blair sat back for a moment and studied his Sentinel, his lover. Jim looked completely stunned, his eyes tracking Blair's movements as if he had no idea what would come next. 

"See, the special thing about the penis --" Blair stroked slowly down Jim's shoulder and arm, using the back of his fingernails to create a sensation that would sear through the layers of clothing. "-- is the sheer number of nerve endings that it has, and the fact that they have a hotline to the pleasure centers of the brain." Reaching Jim's wrist, he encircled it gently and lifted it to his lips, brushing the pulse-point with a butterfly's touch. "But there's one part of the body that has even more nerve endings, that can withstand more varied stimulation." He let Jim's hand cup his jaw as it was inclined to do, then turned his head to trace a moist tongue-tip across the palm. "The fingertips," he concluded, and took Jim's index finger into his mouth. 

Jim gasped and sagged limply against the cushions. His hand would have fallen if not for Blair's grasp on the wrist. Blair smiled around his treasure, hollowing his tongue rhythmically against the sweet, fleshy ball. He stroked the knuckle across the hard ridges of his palate, locked his lips around the base of the finger, then nibbled his way slowly to the very tip, chewing on a ridge of callus. 

Jim was panting, his eyes half-lidded and his muscles unstrung. Blair released the captive finger and waited until Jim fixed huge, bottomless pupils upon him and tried to focus. A gentle breath of air across the moistened digit made Jim moan. Then Blair sucked in the middle finger and gave it the same treatment. He went from one to the next, giving each the same luxurious attention, and pausing in between to blow on the previously affected fingers, keeping the sensation alive. After he had licked and sucked and nibbled Jim's pinky into its own euphoria, he went down on the man's palm, drawing his tongue across it in broad circles. Then he gave the thumb a rough scrape with his teeth and lifted Jim's other hand to begin all over again. 

By the time Blair had finished with the second hand, Jim was half-sprawled over the arm of the couch, moaning softly on each outward breath. Blair grinned evilly and crawled up his lover's body to blow against the soft, throbbing hollow of Jim's throat. The Sentinel's whole body jerked. Blair rode the spasm and circled around Jim's neck, letting twin jets of warm air from his nostrils pulse against the sensitive skin. "All this," he husked in Jim's ear, "without even taking off our clothes." 

Jim's eyes fluttered open. "B-Bluh," he gasped weakly. "*Blehrrrr.*" 

The guide smiled to hear his name purred so lovingly. Finally, as he'd longed to do from the moment Jim Ellison slammed him up against a wall, Blair covered the other man's lips with his own. 

Jim arched up hungrily, his hands galvanizing to dive into Blair's hair and pull the smaller man against him. His tongue swept in lengthy expeditions across Blair's teeth and palate, into the tender areas beneath the tongue. He devoured Blair's mouth, completely preoccupied by taste until the guide managed to take control with his own tongue and push the invader clear. Then their lips were gliding, surfing over each other in a mingling of slick textures that was nearly enough to send Blair into a zone-out, much less his Sentinel. 

But Jim never lost focus. His hands roamed voraciously over his guide's body even while their mouths were fused together. One hand pulled the shirttail free and delved beneath, wandering the expanse of Blair's back. The other hand crept between their bodies, teasing at the buttons of Blair's fly until the younger man broke away with a gasp and snatched at the grasping fingers. 

"Ah-ah!" he scolded. "I'm in charge here, remember? That's the way you wanted it." 

Jim blinked up at him dazedly. 

"Look, why don't we take this somewhere more comfortable?" Blair started to climb off the couch. 

Jim clutched his arm. 

"Easy, big guy. Easy. I'm not going away. Wouldn't you like to go upstairs?" 

Jim blinked and licked swollen lips. "Up-- upstairs. Yeah. Sure." 

"Good. You go up there and get your clothes off, okay? I'm going to grab some stuff we need." Blair moved slowly towards his bedroom, aware of Jim's gaze tracking his every move. "Go on. I'll be right up." 

He hurried into his room and rummaged through the rickety little nightstand in search of condoms and the natural water-based lubricant his mother had sent him. Finding the small jar, he twisted the top off and sniffed cautiously. It had a subtle, slightly minty aroma, nothing at all like the rubbery odor of KY. "Thanks, Mom," he whispered, and rushed back out to the living room. 

He had half expected to have to chivvy Jim off the couch and lead him upstairs by the hand, but the Sentinel had disappeared in his usual silent fashion. Mounting the steps cautiously, Blair caught his breath when he reached the top to find Jim Ellison stretched out in all his sculpted glory, nude against the sky-blue coverlet. 

"Oh, man," Blair breathed. "Jim, you are so . . . _wow_." 

The corners of Jim's mouth twitched, but his eyes flickered down and then away. 

Blair stepped closer, following the direction of Jim's gaze to find a set of exquisitely-formed genitals bulging quiescent between the powerful thighs. "Mmmm," he said appreciatively as he crawled onto the foot of the mattress. He stalked up the length of Jim's legs, trapping them under his body, and combed his nose through the thatch of hair at Jim's groin. "Remember what I said about nerve endings?" he murmured against the warm flesh. "In this state, they're much more densely concentrated." He turned his head so the wiry hairs brushed across his cheek, back and forth. "Not to mention that it makes it easier to do this --" In one swift movement, he took Jim's entire lax penis into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it full circle. 

Jim arched violently, his pubic bone bumping Blair in the face. The guide yelped around his meaty gag and rubbed pitifully at his nose, lifting amused blue eyes to meet Jim's gaze. The Sentinel clenched his fists upon the comforter and visibly forced himself to relax. Hands braced against Jim's hips for control, Blair continued to suck as the shaft in his mouth slowly lengthened and stiffened. 

"Now see what you've done," Blair chided as he pulled back to place delicate licks across the tiny slit. "All those nerve endings are stretched out again." He favored one side and then the other with lightning flicks of his tongue, exploring his new possession. "Ah, there it is," he said at last, pushing some of the hair aside. "I can hardly see it." 

Jim craned his neck upward to see what he was talking about, and Blair brushed a finger gently over the thin white line at the base of the shaft. "Don't . . ." Jim said. 

Blair looked up. "Why not? Does it hurt?" 

"No." Jim turned his face away, cheekbones flaring pink. 

"It's beautiful, man. *You're* beautiful." Blair crouched back a bit and found another, longer scar on Jim's thigh. He scattered kisses along its pink length, worshipping the evidence of Jim's pain and fortitude. "You're such a warrior." He stretched up to an old bullet scar along Jim's ribs, fusing his lips over the small pucker as he held his body a bare inch above Jim's. "A survivor." He considered the bullet wound and gave it one last kiss before moving on to a knife cut along Jim's left forearm. "And . . ." He traced the long slice with the tip of his tongue. "You are individually, uniquely, irreplaceably you." He raised his head and met Jim's gaze significantly. 

Jim looked puzzled for a moment, and then he caught on. He nodded slowly as Blair settled over his groin once more. 

He brushed his upper lip, newly shaved and tender, over Jim's half-hard length -- down and back again, cherishing the softness of the skin and the warm pulse beneath. As he tilted his head to feel the flared crown against his cheek, Blair's hair tumbled from behind his ear and flowed over Jim's thighs. The Sentinel gasped, his fingers digging into the mattress. 

Blair smiled and shook his head, sending dark silk cascading across Jim's cock. He stroked the outsides of Jim's thighs, first lightly and then harder, needing to feel the reality of this beautiful man beneath his hands. All at once his heart felt ready to burst with happiness. Breath catching, he grabbed Jim's hips and buried his face against the smooth abdomen. 

Hands touched his head, smoothed across his curls. "Blair?" 

"I'm okay," he breathed, blinking stinging eyes. Muscles rippled beneath his cheek, and he realized his eyelashes were brushing Jim's skin. "I just never believed this would happen, you know?" He lifted his head to look up at his lover. 

Jim stroked his cheek with one knuckle. "It's real," he promised. "But I think one of us is a little overdressed." 

Blair glanced down at himself in surprise. He had been so engrossed in discovery that it hadn't even occurred to him to get undressed. He realized now that his own cock was throbbing uncomfortably in his pants. It would be much harder to think clearly once he released it from confinement. "Maybe just a little," he conceded. He crawled further up the mattress to straddle Jim's waist, just barely brushing his denim-clad butt over the Sentinel's groin. 

With his right hand he popped open the top two buttons of his shirt, running his thumb teasingly up and down the small vee that was revealed. His left thumb matched the motion on Jim's chest, passing ever-so-lightly over the fine skin just below the notch in the collarbone. 

Jim reached up to speed the undressing process, but Blair slapped the errant hands away. He broke off his teasing for a moment to pin Jim's elbows between his knees and the man's own ribs. Satisfied that he was in control, he set out to show Jim exactly what a guide was good for. 

This time he yanked at the shirt so the next two buttons popped right off. One soared in a graceful arc over the railing, and the flicker of Jim's attention showed that sharp ears were tracking its progress. "Mmmm," Blair purred, rustling one hand through his own chest hair while the other brushed -- far more delicately -- over smooth pectoral slabs. For the Sentinel, he knew, this was both a visual and an aural feast, as the soft shushing of skin against skin and the crackle of wiry hair encouraged Jim to open his senses. 

Blair lowered his head to take a breath of his own musk, so richly different from heat-sweat or even exercise sweat. He noted the slight flaring of Jim's nostrils and added to the stimulation by dipping a hand into his warm armpit, then brushing the fingertips across Jim's lips. A tongue darted out swiftly to match taste with scent. 

He tugged the last few buttons free and tipped his head back as his right fingers circled around one nipple. The Sentinel's mouth dropped open, and his arousal-dark eyes widened as Blair's left hand copied the motion, but he made no sound. Shrugging the shirt from his shoulders, Blair let it fall loosely down his back. With a smile, he noted that there was definitely something back there that kept the fabric from lying flat. 

Blair climbed off his lover to reach for the bottle of lubricant he had left at the side of the bed. It had almost the consistency of a massage oil, but being water-based it could evaporate, and the touch of mint in the mixture would make it feel even cooler on exposed skin. Blair dipped a finger into the slick substance and placed just a dab on each of Jim's nipples. He blew across them and watched the small nubs peak eagerly. Taking one nipple into his mouth, he suckled while Jim gasped and squirmed beneath him. Then he blew on it again and passed to the other nipple, tasting the sharp tang of the lubricant. 

He finger-painted two lines down the sides of Jim's neck, left a tiny moist patch over the sternum, and pressed a generous dollop into Jim's navel. Then, with achingly slow movements, he pulled the discarded shirt clear of Jim's groin, letting the Sentinel feel each warm fiber as it climbed over his cock. He paused a moment to take in the sight of the proud shaft straining towards the ceiling while he thoroughly slicked his middle finger. 

He crawled between Jim's legs, nudging the knees upward to give him more access while he pressed soft kisses on the heavy, tight sac below Jim's cock. He took a deep breath, willing his neck and shoulder muscles to relax. Then he bent down to take as much of Jim's length as he was able, and at the same moment he slipped one long finger inside him. 

Jim screamed. Blair's free forearm was braced across the bigger man's hips, which was all that kept him from getting strangled as the Sentinel's entire body convulsed upward. The ring of muscle clamped tight around Blair's finger. 

Blair had never quite mastered the skill of deep-throating; his gag reflex was too sensitive, especially since he had nearly been drowned by the madman David Lash. But he gave it his best try, gulping breaths of air between each plunge, urged along by the sobbing cries of his lover. His finger delved and sought, and came at last upon the small bump inside the warm passage. Jim's shouts echoed from the rafters, and two strong hands twisted relentlessly into Blair's hair. 

The guide took a deep breath and dove down upon his Sentinel's cock, feeling the brush of hair against his lips. Again he pulled back and swooped down, stabbing his finger against its prize. And again -- and on the third time he felt his hair pulled sharply, felt the flesh throb against his tongue, felt warm spurts sliding down his throat without ever having tasted them. 

Blair reached up and carefully unclamped the hands from his head, catching at last the bitter aftertaste of Jim's pleasure as he lifted himself free. The pressure at his groin was growing unbearable; snug briefs and tight jeans were not enough to keep the blood from pooling in his cock, draining will and thought. He struggled clumsily to undo his fly and kick the pants off, then fell across Jim's body with a groan. 

"God, Jim," he breathed, running his hands over the warm skin for his own pleasure this time. "Want you. I've wanted you so long . . ." He began to hump against the softening genitals beneath him. It would only take a few strokes to bring him over the edge . . . 

"So take me," the beloved voice breathed in his ear. 

Blair froze. "Wha-what?" 

"Come inside me." Jim pressed kisses along his jaw, captured his mouth briefly, wandered back toward his ear. "I want you in me." 

Blair's hips jerked involuntarily. "Ohhh, man. Jim, I've never done that before -- either way. Have you?" 

"No. But I want it." Jim pulled several long strands of hair across his face and inhaled deeply. "Want everything, with you." 

Blair closed his eyes. The very first time he'd had sex was with a girl who was also a virgin at the time. The experience had been clumsy and unsatisfying for him, painful and even frightening for her. He remembered the girl's tears afterward and couldn't imagine causing his partner such pain. "Jim, I could hurt you." 

"No, you can't. You could never hurt me." Jim rolled them over swiftly, framing Blair's face with his forearms on the pillow. "I want to know what it's like. When you -- with your finger -- I never felt anything so good." 

"But Jim, you -- you already . . . what if you don't enjoy it?" 

Jim smiled sweetly. "I want to know what it's like when I'm not zoned out of my mind. If it's not fun the first time, we can always try it when I _am_ drugged on sensation." He sat back. "Here, I'll get you started." He considered the eager cock arrowing up Blair's belly. "Doesn't look like you need any encouragement there." He stretched across the bed for a foil packet and ripped it open. "Hmm, ribbed. Is that for your pleasure or mine?" He rolled the rubber down Blair's length. 

"Oh god, Jim!" Blair's head thrashed at the feel of those warm hands on the most intimate part of his body, after so many years of longing. 

Jim retrieved the little jar of lubricant, studying the hand-printed label. "What is this stuff? Where'd you get it?" 

"Mom -- sent," Blair gasped, his hips bucking upward. "Made . . . desert plants . . . ohhh, Jim, please!" 

Jim fisted him with a generous handful of the stuff. "Your mom, huh? You'll have to tell me all about that -- once you can speak again, of course." 

"Jim, I'm gonna -- !" 

"No, you're not." The teasing hand pulled away. "I want to do it properly." 

Blair took a deep breath, fighting for control *I can do this. I'm not a teenager anymore. I can do this.* "Okay," he gulped. "Easiest is supposed to be hands and knees, to start with." 

Jim frowned. "I'd rather be able to see you." 

"Jim, please. I've never done this before. I swear if I hurt you. . ." 

"Okay, shhh." Jim kissed him, a soft lip-touch that quickly became a passionate mating of tongues. Blair was beginning to writhe mindlessly again when his lover pulled away. "You do what you have to do." 

"Okay." Blair sat up and reached for the lubricant. "I'm gonna start with fingers and stretch you. Let me know if it hurts, okay, man? You shouldn't have to turn it down during sex." 

"Go on." Jim turned to lie on his stomach, stuffing a pillow beneath his hips. 

Blair tried his middle finger to start with, and found the opening fairly loose in the aftermath of Jim's pleasure, so he added his index finger as well. Once they had gotten past the first tight ring, he moved them in and out a few times, then tried to scissor them open. The muscle fluttered slightly against the intruders, but slowly relaxed and opened. "This okay?" Blair choked out through a dry mouth. 

"Fine," Jim murmured into the pillow. "Keep going." 

"Promise you'll let me know if it hurts." Receiving a nod of assurance, he added a finger from his other hand, spreading Jim's cheeks apart. The sight of the dusky hole engulfing his fingers made his balls throb. Remembering Jim's strong reaction earlier, Blair reached deeper, trying to figure out where the prostate was from this angle. 

Abruptly Jim gasped and lifted his hips from the pillow. "Blair! Come on, do it!" 

"You sure?" His voice shook. 

"Yes!" The Sentinel groaned deeply as Blair's fingers probed again. "Now!" 

He pulled his hands free and hastily added more lubricant to the head of his cock. Trembling, he positioned himself and pushed slowly inward. For a moment the resistance seemed impossible, but then the crown popped in and the rest went steadily. "Oh god. Jim. Jim . . . oh man!" he breathed. 

"Blair," his lover groaned. "Oh, yeah. Blair!" 

And he was there. Inside Jim Ellison, topping the hero of the world. Blair felt about ten feet tall as he watched the muscled back flex beneath him. He pulled back and pushed in again. It was heavenly -- so tight, and yet so perfectly accommodating. He wasn't afraid of hurting Jim anymore; they were made for each other. 

Jim was bucking up against him now, firm ass pressing back against Blair's belly. Their balls bounced together and swayed apart. Blair let go of Jim's hip for a moment to brush the hair from his face and in that moment, as his balance shifted, the angle of their contact changed. 

"Blair!" the big man shouted, rearing up beneath him. "Again! Blair! Oh, god." 

Blair tried to hold the new angle he had discovered as Jim squirmed back to guide him to just the right spot. Bracing against Jim's hips with one hand, Blair reached forward to find him erect and throbbing once more. It was simple to take Jim in hand and start sweeping his hand over the long shaft. The grip felt so natural -- like touching himself, only sweeter, softer against his palm. And the sheath of flesh that pulsed so tightly around Blair's own cock was somehow familiar, a joining that was meant to be. 

Large hands clamped on the loft railings and whitened with the force of Jim's grip. The Sentinel was sobbing now with each breath, each thrust. They moved in harmony, voices and bodies picking up the pace and pitch of their mating. Blair's breath came in explosive gasps, and ropes of sinew stood out on Jim's arms as they approached the pinnacle. 

Jim let out an animal roar, and Blair tightened his grip as he felt the Sentinel's cock begin to throb. As if it were his own flesh, he felt the pulses start in the balls and travel the length of the shaft, somehow involving every other muscle in that magnificent body. A spurt burst over Blair's thumb while the echoing spasm clenched around his own cock. Then another, and another, and by then Blair was erupting as well. He plastered himself against Jim's back and sobbed out his ecstasy even as Jim's cries were fading from the air. 

When the room turned upside down, Blair thought it was a trick of his blood-deprived brain. Then he realized that Jim had collapsed, taking them both down. Fortunately they had gone sideways, instead of striking Jim's head on the railing or pitching right over it to the loft below. 

Weakly, Blair struggled to sort out their tangled limbs. Jim was not helping at all, and for a moment Blair was afraid that perhaps he _had_ hit his head. But the Sentinel's eyes were open, and he was breathing steadily, if heavily. 

Blair brushed at his lover's damp forehead. "Jim? Hey Jim, you in there, man? Come back to me." 

Jim's pupils had shrunk back to normal size, making his eyes their usual startling blue. Slowly they focused, then blinked twice. "Blair?" 

He grinned. "I don't know, Jim, everything seems to work just fine to me." 

"What happened?" 

"You passed out. Or zoned out. Or somewhere in between." Blair shook his head. "Never would have pegged you for a screamer, man." 

"Are you okay?" 

"I think that's supposed to be my line." Blair stretched for the tissues on Jim's nightstand, discovering in the process that his muscles were about as firm as overcooked spaghetti. He pulled off the slimy condom, wrapped it in tissues, and tossed it in the general direction of the trash. It missed. 

Jim didn't say anything. 

Blair frowned. " _Are_ you all right, Jim?" 

Jim blinked. "Yeah. Fine." 

"Not sore or anything?" Blair twisted to peer at Jim's backside. 

"Hmm? Oh, that. Well, I'm not going to forget what we did anytime soon, if that's what you mean." 

Humor, however weak. Blair smiled in relief. 

"Blair, that was -- how did you -- I mean . . ." 

"Amazing what a good prostate massage will do, isn't it?" 

"Is that all it took? The prostate?" 

"No, that's not all." Blair levered his weary body up to capture Jim's mouth in a loving kiss. "Prostate massage is a start, but I think you need a partner who knows what to do with a Sentinel --" 

"That would be you," Jim added bemusedly. 

"Right. And you also need lots of love." Blair swallowed and looked into the blue eyes earnestly. "I love you, Jim." 

"Good. That makes it mutual." 

Blair blinked. As a declaration, it left a bit to be desired. But it was very Jim. He gave his strong, silent lover another kiss, then turned over to snuggle down in front of him, pulling a corner of the comforter over them both. Jim's arms wrapped reflexively around his guide, and they sighed in unison with satisfaction. 

**EPILOGUE**

"I told you we were going to be too early!" Mack exclaimed. "Look, the place is practically deserted." 

Jim just shrugged. "So, you won't have to wait in line. Anyway --" He grinned tightly. "-- I wanted to be sure you wouldn't miss your flight." 

"How flattering," Mack grumbled as he passed his ticket and ID to the airline clerk, briefly explaining the gun locked in his suitcase and displaying all the paperwork that gave him the right to transport it. That done, he looked around the quiet terminal. "You're sure Blair was going to bring Holli here?" 

"That's what he said," Jim replied. "Apparently she stopped by his office at the university to discuss something, so he offered her a ride." 

"Oh. That makes sense. I guess." Mack frowned as his boarding pass was handed over to him. "Should we wait for them at the gate?" 

"We could get a drink or something. There's no hurry." 

"That's true." Mack picked up his carry-on bag and started towards the concourse. "So you're getting that case all wrapped up, huh?" 

"Yeah. You may have to come back and testify in a few months, if they don't work out a plea-bargain." 

"Is that likely?" Mack considered the menu at a snack counter and shook his head over the prices. 

Jim shrugged. "The DA wants to throw the book at Shoemacher. One count of murder one, and five counts attempted." 

Mack's eyebrows flew up. "You're kidding! No way that was premeditated." 

There was a pause as they reached the security station. Jim had to show his badge and explain the presence of his own gun, promising that he would not be boarding a plane with it. Then they were heading along the corridor again. 

"You're right." Jim resumed their conversation. "I don't think Shoemacher planned any of what happened. But after the way he tried to get rid of Whiting's body, not to mention nearly burning four other people alive and trying to drop me in a tank full of acetone, the DA is in no mood for leniency." They reached Mack's gate and sat in the nearly empty waiting area. 

Mack shook his head disbelievingly. "Barrett's the one who should get the book thrown at him. He called in Whiting and turned a simple case of strong-arming into kidnapping and murder. *He's* the one who was ready to kill us all in cold blood. Shoemacher just panicked and went off the deep end." 

"Well, that's the way it goes," Jim said philosophically. "The ones who really deserve the sentence never get it, do they? At least Shoemacher's wife and kids should be all right. They'll be getting the earnings from his stock while he's inside." 

Mack frowned. "I thought the stock wasn't going to be worth much once the news about the cyanide sweetener got out." 

"We'll have to wait and see. Apparently Gearhardt is trying to cut a deal with the FDA. They won't be selling the stuff in five-pound bags, but they might be able to get away with pre-packaged mixes -- cakes, brownies, cookie dough, that sort of thing. As long as the sweetener content is fairly low, and they put warnings on the boxes, the FDA might allow it. They can team up with Betty Crocker and make a product that any diabetic in the country would buy." 

"Hey." Mack jerked his chin along the concourse. "Here they come." 

Jim blinked. "What do you know, Sandburg's on time for once!" 

"Must be Holli's influence." Mack squinted at the two figures gesturing animatedly as they waited for Holli's medical bag to be searched. "What do you suppose they're talking about?" 

"No idea. Doesn't look like anything bad, anyway." 

"You don't suppose they could be . . ." 

"What?" 

"Comparing . . . you know." 

"What, trading notes on our technique?" Jim laughed. Then sobered. He looked at his twin uncertainly. 

They rose to their feet as one and headed to intercept their friends. 

Holli was listening intently to Blair's words. "And this vision thing could have some effect on their aim?" She accepted her bag back with a quick smile at the security attendant. 

"Well, it does for Jim. I've seen him do some amazing things with a gun -- when he can hold on to it, that is. I don't know about Mack; is he a sharp-shooter or something?" 

"Or something." She frowned. "The first time he ever swung a golf club, he got a hole in one. I don't know if you're familiar with golf --" 

"Uh, that would be no. My mom thought it was elitist and antienvironmental." 

"Oh. Well, there's no way he should have been able to do that, unless . . ." 

"Unless he had some sort of advantage!" Blair bounced excitedly. "See, this is exactly the sort of thing I need to know about! Promise you'll write me if you notice --" 

Jim appeared in front of them. "What sort of thing do you need to know about, Chief?" 

"Got a new pen-pal, Doc?" Mack demanded at the same instant. 

"Oh! Uh, hi guys." Blair looked guiltily at Holli. "We were just, um, comparing notes, you know?" 

Holli stifled a giggle at the horror on both cops' faces. "Actually," she said smoothly, "Blair and I just wanted to stay out of the way and give you two a chance to talk." 

"Yeah!" Blair agreed. "Like, we thought you should get acquainted." 

Jim and Mack looked at each other. "I think we're well enough acquainted by now, Chief." 

"Right. C'mon, Doc, time to say good-bye." 

"But the plane won't be boarding for another hour!" Holli objected. 

"Yeah, but Jim's parked in the white zone. We shouldn't keep him." Mack gestured expansively. "Look, it's been nice meeting you guys." 

"It really has," Holli affirmed, standing on tiptoe to give Jim a peck on the cheek. 

Mack gripped Blair's shoulder and bent to whisper in his ear. "Thanks for helping me sublimate." 

Blair blinked, glancing at Jim. "Uh, same here. I'd say `any time,' but . . . I don't think I'll be doing that sort of thing anymore." 

Mack glanced between Blair and Jim, breaking into a broad grin. "Really? That's great! I knew you could do it, Tiger." 

Blair blushed and studied his scuffed sneakers. 

Mack turned to Jim and grasped his hand. "I, uh, wasn't expecting this to turn out the way it did, but I'm not sorry I met you. I'd like you to come out sometime and meet my -- our -- sisters." 

"Sisters?" Jim was stunned. 

"Yeah, two of 'em. I always hated being outnumbered. Now I've got a brother, that should help." 

"Hey, that's nothing, man!" Blair broke in. "Jim has an Ellison brother named Steven. He's president of the company that manages Lastings Park." 

Mack stared. "I have a brother that runs a race track?" 

Jim shifted his weight uncomfortably. "Look, I haven't told Steven about this whole thing yet . . ." 

"I have a _brother_ that runs a _race track_? Why didn't you tell me this before?" Mack turned. "Holli, I have to change my flight --" 

"Oh, no you don't!" Holli captured his arm and tucked it firmly under her own. "New leaf, remember? Anyway, he doesn't know about you yet." 

"I can pretend to be Jim --" 

"No, you can't." Holli smiled sweetly at Jim. "Go on. I'll keep him in line." 

"You'd better. I don't even want to think about what damage he's already done to my reputation." Jim shuddered. 

"Does that mean you won't go out dancing with me?" Blair asked plaintively. 

Holli laughed at the stunned expression on Jim's face as she drew Mack away. 

"Speaking of my reputation," Jim growled as he and Blair started back down the concourse, "did I just hear you talking to Holli about the Sentinel thing?" 

"Oh, yeah!" Blair grinned enthusiastically. "She's going to keep an eye on Mack, let me know if he exhibits any unusual abilities --" 

"Did it ever occur to you to _ask_ me about this first?" 

"What?" Blair broke stride. "Oh no, man, you got it all wrong! I didn't volunteer the information -- she came to me. She already guessed a lot of it before she showed up at my office. I gather you, um, weren't very careful when you were out looking for us." 

"But she's not going to tell Wolfe, is she?" 

"Not unless his senses actually come on-line. We discussed that whole post-processing thing, and whether it would be ethical to bring out Mack's Sentinel abilities if he isn't geared to cope with them. She's going to try to find out if he had enhanced senses as a child, and that should tell us a lot." Blair's walk grew more energetic as they reached the main terminal. "You know, the comparison of twins separated at birth is going to invaluable for my thesis. The genetics angle -- the whole argument of nature versus nurture . . ." 

"That's great, Chief, I'm glad to hear it. But --" Jim pulled up on the curb outside the terminal building. "Where the hell is my truck?" 

"Um." Blair rubbed his chin nervously. "Down there?" 

Jim looked just in time to see a tow truck pulling his Ford out onto the main road. "It's a police vehicle! I had the lights on!" 

"What, and you expected them to _stay_ on, with that battery? But don't feel too bad." Blair looked up at him fondly. "I'll give you a ride to the impound lot. Free of charge." He gave Jim a swat on the backside and dashed away along the curb, weaving between passengers and luggage-handlers. 

"I'll give you `free of charge!'" Jim bellowed, taking off after his lover. 

**END**  
March-June, 1998 


End file.
